What the Hell Am I Doing
by WitchHazel2019
Summary: When an overdramatic and inconsistant young woman gets taken (accidentally) by Sam and Dean Winchester to a Torchwood base, she must confront her fears and past to move forward. She also has to learn to turn down and accept that not everyone is out to kill her. Trigger Warnings: Barack Obama, Death, Violence, Rape, PTSD
1. What the Hell is that Fountain Doing

The first eleven months after Danny died were a messy blur. I drove all over the States, hunting like a maniac. Let it be noted that I'm not proud of whom I was then. I was a machine; hardened by the hardships and cruelties that life had bestowed upon me. I had hardened my heart. I stopped trusting everything and everyone, including myself. I pushed my grief so far into myself, so deep into the vast expanses that were my mind that I forgot what love was – I forgot the happiness and joy that Danny brought to me. I didn't remember, and I didn't care. I didn't want to care. All I wanted was my son back, but I couldn't have that. I knew, deep down, that he was better off in heaven than he ever was on earth.

I was alone; alone and hurting and completely ruthless. Whatever I saw that I thought to be a threat to human kind, I would kill. My opponent would enter the fight, but not once did they exit. Some might say that I was good at my job, but I think and I know that what I was went beyond what being a Hunter entailed. I became a monster. And I knew it, too. And that knowledge – that awareness of my own atrocity – would come back to bite me later.

As I grew in monstrosity, I also grew in intellect. I was pretty smart at this point, but there is only so much knowledge that can be gained from books. With the sort of life I was leading, being street smart was far more valuable than being book smart. Not that I'm degrading book-smarts. Being book smart wasn't a bad thing at all. On the contrary, all that time that I had spent reading up on things like nuclear devices and atomic bomb make-up and hydro-nucleics really paid off. Take, for example, mid-August of 2007.

I had been out hunting for about three months when I got wind of a small town that was infested with demons. I got it into my head that I should go take out the entire throng by myself, which was, obviously, a _really smart_ idea of a seventeen-year-old girl. The entirety of my game plan was to build a hydronuclear bomb that would basically douse the entire town with holy water. The impact, I had calculated, would kill probably about seventeen percent of the demons, leaving a grand eighty-three percent of the demons for me to kill or exorcise. And by eighty-three percent, I mean about one hundred ninety-four demons, as opposed to the two hundred thirty-four I would have otherwise.

On a side note, I was fully and completely aware that it was a reckless idea. It was a kamikaze mission. I didn't want to get out alive. I was done. I had seen too many people I had cared about die and I sure as hell had seen too many people – period – die. And a small part of me hated how easy it had become to kill things, even though it was only demons and monsters that I did kill. So I thought it was best if I should go. I had wanted to for a while, but I was too much of a coward to stick a gun to my head and shoot myself. I wasn't my father. So I decided, for once, that I wanted to go down fighting.

So I built this hydro-nuclear bomb right in my car. It took about a week. I didn't bother testing it, because I didn't want to get out alive anyways. While I was building it, I only stopped about twice a day, to eat and go to the bathroom. But other than that, I worked. And slept, I guess. I would fall asleep in the car around one or two in the morning, by the light of a battery-operated lantern, and then I would wake up when the sun came up. I guess that sounds a little weird, sleeping in my car, but it was cheaper and easier than renting a motel room everywhere I went, and besides, I was seventeen, so I wasn't actually able to buy a hotel room. I mean, I guess I _could_ have faked an ID, but I still had some morals, despite my anger and hate. I was already pretending to be someone I wasn't, and I felt like I couldn't go beyond that any more than I already was.

When I finally finished the bomb, I didn't hesitate, I didn't sit back and say, ' _Good job, Sara, you did it,'_ because Sara had been dead for a long time, and soon the Eden that had taken her place was going to be, too. And that felt good. I strapped a gun to my side and sheathed my knife, and held onto the bomb, which was no bigger than a tennis ball, tightly in my hand.

I had decided that I was going to walk into the town; not to be dramatic, but because while I really wanted to die, I didn't, either. There's something marvelous that happens around you when you know that your life is going to end; the world becomes… well, breath-takingly beautiful. The breeze gently blew my hair around my face, the sun shone around me, lighting up the view around me in a splash of unmatched color and light. It was your classic last day on earth. But despite the niceties that were on display before me, my past and my hurt were able to overtake the good, and I trudged on; my death march. I had no qualms about dying. I didn't feel scared, I just felt… relieved. Even though I was barely seventeen, I couldn't take it. I was actually hoping to get killed rather quickly.

As I entered the town, I could practically feel the demonic presence, which sounds a little strange, I know, but I had always been able to tell when things weren't right somewhere. Of course, I figured out later as to why that was, but I didn't know then what I know now.

Walking into town was quiet. No demon came to challenge me. In fact, if I hadn't known better, I would have said that the town was deserted. But it wasn't, I could tell. I knew that the demons were there, but I didn't know _where_ they were. I assumed that they were inside because they didn't know I was there, but in actuality, it was because I was being protected. More on that, later.

I walked to the very center of the town, feeling more and more uncertain with each step; was this a good idea? Did I really want to die? I mean, I half-expected to die from the initial blast of the bomb – it wasn't just designed to hurt demons, it was meant to destroy, and that sort of included me. As I thought harder, I finally admitted to myself that it _was_ a bad idea, not because I would hurt myself most definitely, but because it was selfish. I wanted to die for _me_ , not for the protection of human kind. Ironically, that thought sort of solidified my belief that I needed to die.

I sat down on the edge of the fountain in the middle of the town. It was a Greek woman holding a –

"What do you want, Hunter?"

I swung around, drawing my knife, tensing up. It was a young woman, very petite, pretty. She had ash-blonde hair and a small, upturned nose and sparkling blue eyes. Except, in a moment, those blue eyes had pooled to black.

Demon. Not that I hadn't figured that before.

My voice, after months of being unused, came out surprisingly smooth, "I was just passing through. I don't mean any trouble."

The demon grinned, "No, you won't be," and she jumped me.

I was ready, though. I dropped the bomb on the ground, letting it roll behind me while I put my knife to the demon's throat as we tumbled to the ground. I managed to turn us in mid-air, so she ended up hitting her head against the fountain in the square, cracking it with a sickening thud against the base. She screamed at first, the initial impact. And then her scream turned to laughter as she grabbed my arms and flipped me over onto my back. "Do you really think," she asked quietly as blood ran down her head, "that we are scared of you? It doesn't matter who's watching over you; we are many, and you are few."

Flipping her backwards, over my head, I got up, doing my best not to look confused as I said scathingly, " _Watching over me?_ No one is _watching over me_. No one ever has, and no one ever will. So you're right; I am few; all by myself." I smiled at her and said, "So why are you all hiding? What's the point in that? I know there are many more of you here."

The demon had gotten up and was regarding me with a small devious smile and she said decidedly, "You're crazy."

I shrug and responded with a, "Maybe so. But at least I'm not dead. Yet," and with that I threw my knife at her, harder and faster than I had anticipated, the knife ripping through her body, leaving her with a gaping hole in her chest, and a surprised look on her face as she died.

I got that a lot, demons looking surprised when I killed them with a knife. It was uncommon, I know. A regular old knife couldn't just kill a demon, so why should some little girl be able to kill demons with a knife?

The knife was something I had gotten from my mom's trunk – a present from my dad. I hadn't seen or heard of it before I scooped it out of the old wooden box, but there was a letter that was lying just underneath it, a letter. I had hesitated before I opened it, recognizing my father's handwriting,

' _My dearest Eden,_

 _I found this in the ruins of a nest and thought of you, at home, with Sarah. I hope to God that you will never need to use it, but it would be quicker and faster than an exorcism. This kills them, Eden. It kills the demons. I don't know what it's made of, for none of my brothers or sisters have seen a thing like it before. But it works. And I all I ask is that you use it if the need arises, which I pray it never will._

 _Give Sara my love. I hope to be home soon._

 _Yours,_

 _Peter'_

The letter had been dated July of 1990, just about ten months after I had been born, so it made sense that my mother would still have been home with me. She didn't start hunting again until I was about three, old enough for me to remember.

All of this I thought about as I walked past the decimated body and yanked my knife out of the ground, where it had stuck, surrounded by pools of black blood and mutilated organs.

I heard them before I saw them, then. As I was picking up the knife, I felt them. Pouring out of the houses, and I was (probably stupidly) interested as to why they hadn't made an appearance before. But I smiled to myself as I straightened up and turned around. I wasn't surprised by how many there were because, as I said before, I had calculated there would be near two hundred. What did surprise, me, however, was that none of them seemed particularly angry. They actually seemed a bit… scared, which made me want to laugh because the first demon had been adamant that they _weren't_ scared of me. I didn't really stop to dwell on why they had a reason to be scared of me. My adrenaline was up. My heart was pounding, but not from nerves. It was anticipation.

I was about to die.

I let the people, the demons, continue to flood into the square, until they all stopped and surrounded me. I had noticed that the bomb had landed in the fountain, and was standing in the fountain in such a way that the bomb wouldn't be noticed. Thus being said, it was almost certain I would be blown apart by the detonation. So that's why I need to needed to get as many demons into the square as I possibly could- to take out that seventeen percent.

I leaned casually against fountain, which was a male angel with a sword that spewed out water from the point. There was an inscription on the base that read _Divinus Patronus,_ or 'Divine Protector' in English. A question tugged somewhere in the back of my mind – wasn't the statue a woman before? – but I pushed it down, not wanting to focus on something trivial like my apparently bad eyesight, to instead focus on one of the demons who had stepped forward – another woman.

"What are you doing here?" she seethed.

I shrugged, "Same as you, I imagine. To destroy. But I think we have slightly different targets."

The demon glared at me a moment, then laughed, "To destroy? No, Hunter, that is not our goal. We are to sit and wait."

Stupidly, I asked, 'For what?"

She grinned maliciously and said with a sweet voice that stilled managed to be full of venom, "For you, of course." And they surged forward, but there was something that can only be described as hesitant.

I laughed, "What? Are you scared of me? A small, seventeen-year-old girl with no back up?" I rolled my eyes and snapped, "Well that's rich." The demons looked somewhat uncertain of themselves and I looked up at the sky and sighed. I pressed then the detonator.

The blast was incredible. It was a lot stronger than I anticipated. Of course, it wasn't nearly as strong as an atomic bomb, like when America had bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki back in the Second World War, and it wasn't as strong as a hydrogen bomb, or even a regular nuclear bomb, since it was powered by water, but it was definitely a strong blast.

The first few rows of demons were vaporized right on the spot, as the water hit them full force. Black smoke poured from their mouths, while the rest fell to the ground, screaming and writhing in pain. As for me, I was thrown backwards, high into the sky, and landed on the roof with a back cracking thud, hitting my head against the weathervane. Every part of my body was on fire, I felt like all my bones had been broken, my head bleeding painfully where it has struck the metal. My vision spotted, and I felt myself passing out. All of a sudden, the square filled with a light- a white light, so bright that it seemed impossible. Blearily watching what was happening, upside down, I saw the angel from the fountain move. It swung at the demons, cutting them down one by one. A voice filled the air, one so loud and deep and commanding that my ears ached. The voice spoke in a language that I did not know, and yet, it was one I recognized. I could tell that the angel was commanding the demons leave the bodies that they had possessed, in the name of the Lord, and that they return to hell from whence they came.

The light died as black smoke filled the air. It hung briefly, a black demonic cloud that soon was sucked back into the earth. My rapidly fading vision desperately sought the angel, but there was no one. Just a fountain. Just a fountain.

Then I blacked out.

I am not going to lie to you and say that I wasn't upset when I woke up, obviously not dead. I was splayed on the rooftop where I had landed, and hurting all over. I was aware of the pain before I was aware of where I was, actually, which always makes for a fun time. I lay there awhile, trying to figure out whether I could move, or if I had broken every bone in my body. I finally came to the decision that if I _had_ broken every bone in my body, then I probably would be in a lot more pain. So to punish myself for being alive, I sat up. I screamed, and then quickly stifled my voice, sobbing. My neck cracking, I looked to around at the area to find that there wasn't anyone there. No bodies, no nothing. Just me and the fountain.

That freaking fountain. I had to go see what was up with that. I gingerly leaned forward, wincing as my back crack loudly and painfully. I apprehensively looked around, trying to find a way off the roof. A trellis. A strangely large trellis, too; one that was tall enough to reach the roof that I was on. I hoisted myself up, gasping as pain sliced through my body, fireworks erupting behind my eyes.

It took me almost ten minutes to get down the trellis, which was as tall as the one-story house. Normally, I probably would have jumped, but I had definitely bruised some ribs, not to mention the huge gash on my forehead from my battle with the weathervane earlier.

My feet finally touching solid ground, I collapsed against the side of the house, breathing heavily. I stood there for a bit, utterly spent, waiting for my breathing to slow down and even out. Even breathing was painful. Eventually, I was able to drag myself over to the fountain, and I looked long and hard at it. It was a prettily carved Greek woman, holding a fruit basket in one left arm, and a sheaf of grain in her right hand, water spouting from each of the individual blades of wheat. I shook my head slowly, to see if that's what was actually there. I gingerly smacked the stone, and it was solid.

I sat down on the fountain's edge, thinking. If the fountain was really a woman, then where had that angel come from? I looked at the base where it had earlier read _Divinus Patronus_ , but now there was nothing _. So what,_ I wondered _, was that? Was I so crazily caught up in my longing for death that I started seeing things? Were the demons fake, to_ o? I glanced down at myself, and say black blood all over me, and saw that the demons, at least, were real.

So that meant my bomb had worked, and I hadn't just gone insane and somehow ended up on the roof. I sighed. _Divine Protector._

I slowly stood up and walked back to my car, wondering the entire time about guardian angels and if I was crazy enough to believe that I actually had one.


	2. People Accidentally Get Possessed

_Wednesday, November 5_ _th_ _, 1986_

 _The Lawrence Journal World_

' _Tragedy at the Winchester Home'_

 _Late Sunday night, the Winchester family struck tragedy. When the family nursery suddenly burst into flames, Mary, aged 29, perished. John, also 29, was able to successfully pull his youngest son, Sam, aged six months, from the burning room before passing him off to Dean, age 4. Dean, upon his father's instruction, ran out of the house to safety with his brother, closely followed by John, who 'scooped up his two sons and just got the hell out of there,' as quoted by Missouri Moseley, an eyewitness to the event._

 _The Lawrence community mourns the loss of Mary, a young, energetic, and well-liked woman, but we rejoice in the safety of her husband and son._

Sighing, I had thrown the article aside. It was dated a little less than three years before I was born. And _Winchester._ Now where had I heard that name before? I rubbed my temples, thinking. The library was too loud. I was in Eudora, Kansas at the time, and while it should have been nice and sunny outside, considering it was the middle of April – the 18th, I think – it wasn't. It was cold and rainy, meaning that all the students decided to hang out at the local public library. This being said, there were too many people in one place for me to properly think.

 _Winchester, John._ My head popped up, making a few nearby teenagers snicker, but I ignored them.

Six years ago, John Winchester… wasn't he the one who got me out of the vamp nest? I reached into my backpack, and pulled out the old leather-bound journal Mom and Dad had given me, and I flipped back to the 26th of December, 2000, when I was 11. Sure enough, right there, in my sloppy handwriting was his name.

' _A man named John Winchester helped me escape Clara and Andrew'._

Reading a bit further, my memories flooded back. I was thin and hungry and John had bodily grabbed me around the waist, kicking Clara in the face after he realized that I wasn't a vampire. We had passed Andrew's body, lying on the ground, minus his head, which was gently smoldering over in the corner. We left Clara, screaming over her husband, sobbing in the corner, and I found myself crying, too, although I wasn't quite sure why. Once we had gotten safely out of the nest, John had gently set me down, and knelt next to me. He asked me if I was hurt, and I had shaken my head. That's when he asked if I had a place to go, a place to be safe. I had lied, and told him that my parents were probably wondering where I was, and he asked if I wanted him to take me back, and I had shaken my head no.

That's the first time I met a Winchester, and it wouldn't be last. But you know that.

"What're you doing here?" I was brought back to reality by the sound of a thickly accented male voice. My instincts kicking in, I looked up into the face of a handsome, redheaded teenage boy, and winced.

He looked a bit surprised at my reaction. "Sorry if I scared you. I just haven't seen you around here before, and in a place like Eudora, everybody knows everybody."

True to my nature, I managed to say, "That's not strictly accurate."

The boy seemed confused, "What?" he had asked.

Blushing slightly, I responded, "Eudora has a population of about six thousand people. I'm fairly certain no one 'knows everyone.'"

He had laughed then. It wasn't a mean laugh, but a surprised one, "I guess that's true. What's your name?"

I looked down at my journal and sighed, trying to decide what to say. Finally, I looked up and said nervously, "Eden Parker."

He grinned and returned, "Shane Cassidy."

I stared at him a bit, my mind whirling with thoughts about him; ' _Shane Cassidy. Irish surname, Americanized first name; origin, Sean. Also Irish. He looks Irish, speaks with a strong Irish accent, so he might have moved from Ireland a few years ago, or -"_ my eyes traveled to his old, battered wristwatch, which was a 24-hour clock, meaning that he had probably been given the watch as a gift from a family member who worked in the military, so ' _\- he's a transfer student.'_ I took a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding of my heart. He was just a guy. He wouldn't hurt me. And besides, if he did, I could take him out, couldn't I?

I bit my lip and said quietly, "Pleasure."

Shane smiled wider and asked leisurely, "How long've you been around here, Eden?"

I had answered evasively with, "A few days, although I might ask you the same question."

He looked surprised, again. Was I really that bad at communicating? One of Shane's eyebrows quirked up a bit and he said, "How long have I been around here? A few months. I'm an exchange student. From Ireland."

I nodded, like was news to me, "Oh, that's interesting." I looked down at my journal, which was still open to the 26th of December, and I it. I sighed and looked back up at Shane, who was still there, and I gave him what was probably a strained smile, because his faded a bit and he asked, "So what're you doing here?"

I ran a hand through my hair, and my eyes dropped to my computer screen, which was open on multiple information pages on Lawrence, Kansas. There had been strange reports the past few days. It seemed that a lot of people had been calling in about flickering lights and stopped up sinks. And the weather all around Lawrence – including Eudora – had been strange lately; it had been unusually cold throughout the state, and there had been a lot of tornadoes that had appeared without warning. In fact –

"Eden?"

My head popped up again, "Hm? Oh, sorry. Um, I'm… visiting family. In Lawrence."

His eyes clouded with confusion as he asked, "Lawrence? Isn't that about twenty minutes from here? There's not a library over there?"

I lied smoothly, causally, "There is, but Eudora is smaller, quieter. And I have some schoolwork that needs to get done, so I thought I'd pop over here. I also heard from, my, um, uncle that Anthony's Diner up on West 9th Street was worth going to."

To my surprise, and somewhat to my horror, Shane nodded, "Yeah, it's a pretty deadly place. We could, um, stop by there later… if you want?"

I froze, then, literally froze. My panic took over and I felt my chest constrict as I stuttered, "Um – I – I… can't."

Shane turned a brilliant shade of pink and he asked, "You have a fella?"

I shook my head real fast and said quickly, "No – I just – no, I don't have a boyfriend."

He looked at me a moment then said, not unkindly, "A girlfriend, then?"

I almost laughed, but the laugh stuck in my throat and I shook my head. "No, I'm not dating anyone."

"If you're a free bird, then why not fly?" Shane asked, looking confused.

I didn't know what to say. How, how in the world was I supposed to tell him why I couldn't? I had just met him, sure, but he was one of the first normal people I had had a real conversation with since Danny. But my experiences with men, my terror, overtook rationality, and made me seize up. How was I supposed to tell him that?

"I have to get back to Lawrence," I said, surprising myself at how even my voice was, "I told my Uncle John I'd be back by three."

Shane glanced at the clock on the wall that read 2:30 and he sighed. "Okay. Well –" he stuck out his hand, " – it was nice meeting you, Eden."

Somewhat hesitantly, I stuck out my hand, and he shook it. Then he did something I hadn't anticipated. He pulled my hand toward himself, and wrote a phone number down on it. At my small yelp of surprise, he glanced up at me and grinned, "If you're sticking around a few more days, I'd sure like to have a rain check on that lunch. Because, Jaysus, you sure are a fine young lady."

I blushed as I gathered up my things and said quietly, "Thanks."

As I walked out, I heard him call, "Nice to meet you, Eden!" I glanced back at him and saw him smiling nicely at me and I almost smiled back. Instead, I just hurried down the stairs.

It was time to go to Lawrence.

Due to the fact that I was now eighteen – I had been for a little more than half a year at this point – I could now rent a motel room, legally. Like I said before, I still had _morals_ so I hadn't really been able to rent one before. I drove the rest of the way to Lawrence that day, wondering all the while about Shane and why the heck he kept sticking in my mind. After driving about half an hour, I found a Baymont Inn and Suites, and I decided to stop and check in. The pricing was low – one thing I wasn't blessed with was money – and the room I was placed in was fairly neat. There was a nice double bed, and a window that overlooked Iowa Street, and they had free wireless, thank God.

I threw down my duffle bag on the bed, and set my laptop down onto the table in the corner. I stopped a moment and then decided to open up the curtains. It wasn't like someone was going to watch me from outside. No one even knew where I was, or cared about me. Actually, everyone who cared about me was dead.

I sighed and rolled my eyes at myself. _Stop wallowing in misery. You're going to be alone for the rest of your life, you might as well get used to it._

The rest of the day, and most of the evening, I sat in my room, researching. I had gotten wind a few days back about demonic spikes in Lawrence, so naturally, I decided to pop over and see what was up.

I had been driving through Eudora when I saw the public library, and thought it might be in my interest to stop. And it had; I had found information on a house that had caught fire some twenty years before, central to where the demonic spikes were now, present day.

Around midnight, my eyes were burning, so I decided it was time to turn in. I slept uneasy that night, tossing and turning. I just couldn't get Shane out of my head. There was something about him that I just couldn't let go. He wove in and out of my dreams. At first, they were pleasant – or at least, tolerable. Shane and I were sitting on a park bench, and I was telling him about Mom and Dad and Danny. When a tear slipped down my cheek, he reached out and gently brushed it away with a soft hand. The sky was blue and the air was dusty and dry, just the way it was Lawrence. He stood, helping me up, and hand-in-hand, we walked to a diner together. We laughed over our food, and I couldn't stop smiling. When we walked out of the diner, we were in a different place. Now the air smelled salty and sweet, like on the East Coast. He and I were by the shore of the North Atlantic. As we walked along, the sky darkened to an inky black, clouds filling the sky with a rumbling roar. Rain as icy as snow started to pelt down, fast and unforgiving. Shane's hand gripped mine so tight that it hurt, and my blood froze when I looked into his blue eyes, which were now completely black and unforgiving as hell. I tried to break my grip, but he was too strong. When I went for my knife, Shane drew his. I started to scream, and – I sat bolt upright, drenched in a cold sweat.

An hour later, I was sitting in a small diner called First Watch. I had gotten my order of strawberry crepes and was doing some more research on the Winchester case, trying to find out as much as I could about those two sons, Sam and Dean, when someone sat down across from me. I looked up and blinked, feeling uneasy. Uncertainly, I asked, "Shane?"

He grinned, "Hey, there, Eden."

It was time for another internal struggle. How'd he find me? Lawrence was almost 35 square miles, and here he was, the morning after I first met him, and he just _happened_ to be in the same restaurant as me, considering he was an exchange student – from Ireland? I didn't buy it.

My voice was cool when I answered, "Hello. Can I help you with something?"

He laughed, "I thought I had taken a rain check."

I raised my eyebrows, "Yeah, for _Anthony's Diner,_ in _Eudora,_ which is _thirteen miles away from here._ "

He shrugged and grinned. "I asked around for you, talked to your uncle briefly. He said you come here in the mornings."

I visibly relaxed and said, "Oh, well… that's fine, then." I logged out of my side on the computer, and popped up the emergency tab I had programmed into it.

I pushed my computer back, and Shane glanced at the screen and laughed incredulously, " _Discrimination of the Amicable Statue in Science: Malapropisms and Race._ What?" He looked over at me, quietly eating my breakfast and I shrugged without looking at him, my right hand hidden under the table.

He stayed silent and I looked up and found him smiling at me. Slightly nettled, I asked, "Yes?"

Shane folded his hands and set them on the table, looking interested, "Where do you go to school, exactly?"

I blinked at him, "Uhm. Purdue University. I'm majoring in political sciences, and minoring in nuclear engineering."

He nodded and said, "Cool. Very cool."

I nodded then said with sarcasm lacing my tone, "Catching on to the local lingo, are we?"

Caught off guard, Shane blinked at me and stiffened, almost imperceptibly. "What?"

I rolled my eyes, "Yesterday you had a nice Irish accent and were rather good at using, uh, Irish slang, whereas today, you sound like your generic American teenage boy."

Shane paled and stuttered, "I, um –"

I cut in smoothly, "Now why don't you tell me who you really are, before I make a scene," I smiled grimly, "And trust me, you don't want that."

Shane sighed and blinked. When he reopened his eyes, they were black. Pure black.

I stiffened and my hand under the table clenched my gun and Shane said quietly, "I just want to talk, Hunter."

I glared and hissed, "What? What could a demon possibly want with me?"

He sat back, looking slightly disgusted, " _I_ don't want anything with you. But someone else does."

"Oh, really? Well, I'm all ears," I said, my voice dripping with false sweetness.

The demon grinned and leaned forward again. So quiet, he was almost inaudible, he whispered with delight, " _Azazel, you dimwit."_

I continued to glare and asked, 'Who?"

Shane looked genuinely surprised, "Azazel. The man – or demon – that ruined your life? Killed sweet little mommy and had daddy put a gun to his head?"

I blinked. _I would not let this demon get to me._ Coolly, I replied, "Oh, is that what his name is? Nice to know he finally decided to be on a name-to-name basis with me. How'd you find me, considering your – ah – lack of information?"

Shane glared at me, "What lack of information?"

I rolled my eyes, "Well, considering your whole ' _oh, I asked around for you, I talked to your uncle'_ spiel, you aren't exactly well-informed about me."

"What do you mean?" Shane said, his eyes furrowing in confusion.

Exasperated, I said, 'I don't have an uncle, you idiot! I'm not here visiting family! No one here knows who I am! I knew you were a liar as soon as you said that!"

Shane was quiet a moment then said lamely, "Oh."

I sat back, not relaxing, but at least in a more comfortable position, my hand still on my gun under the table. After a moment, I realized something, and said amused, "You didn't find me."

Looking confused, the demon asked, "What?"

"You were _stationed_ here. I bet there are demons all over, who are working for your freaking Azazel, and all you have is my name and a message for me. Because you don't know where I am – I've been flying below the radar for years; and your lie about being an exchange student, not being around for long? That wasn't all bogus. You're a new demon – you _haven't_ been around long. No experienced de –"

Shane leaned forward looking livid, " _Shut up_! I may not have been around long –" He stopped and glared when he noticed I was trying not to laugh, " _What_?"

I grinned, "I pissed off a demon; never thought I'd live to see the day." Calming myself to my normal stature, I asked, "So. Azazel has a message for me, you said?"

Still looking nettled, Shane muttered, "He wants you to lay low."

Incredulous, I repeated, " _Lay low?_ What for? And besides, I thought I was doing that already."

Shane laughed, short and harsh, "Oh, really? Taking out an entire town of demons by yourself? _That's_ something you consider laying low?"

I opened my mouth to tell him that, no, I hadn't taken out an entire town of demons by myself, but I ended up closing my mouth, and shrugging instead. Then I asked, somewhat curious, "And why, exactly, does he want me to lay low?"

"To keep you safe," was the unexpected answer.

My rising incredulity gave way to anger, " _Keep me safe?_ The bastard killed my parents and now you're telling me that he wants to keep me SAFE?" Shane glanced around, but there was no one in the diner except for us and the hostess at the bar, who looked slightly interested in what I was saying, but she soon blushed and looked away when Shane glared at her. I hissed again, "What in the name of heaven or hell does he want to keep me safe for?"

He sighed and looked almost bored, "Because you have special gifts that he doesn't want to go to waste. He made you. He doesn't want you getting hurt."

I laughed harshly, "Oh, that's rich."

Shane shrugged and stood up, "That's what I was supposed to tell you. He never said that I should tell you the rest of it."

He tilted his head, "Pleasure talking with you, Eden." And with that he strode out of the bar after winking at the hostess, who looked slightly surprised. Angrily, I stood up and threw some money on the table and shoved my laptop into my bag. Slinging it over my shoulder, I stalked out of the bar and called after Shane impatiently,

"So I'm 'gifted', huh? Well you can tell your precious boss that you've got the wrong girl!"

Shane wheeled around from the top of the hill he had just crested and opened his mouth to talk to me, and he coughed. I paused as his face crumpled in pain, and black smoke started to pour from his mouth. His yells lit the surrounding area, and he fell to his knees. In a moment, he lay crumpled on the ground, moaning in pain. I ran up and bent down by him. I shook his shoulder, although my left hand held my gun. "Shane?"

He blinked up at me and winced, "Huh?"

I frowned, "Are you okay?"

He nodded and looked over his shoulder and froze. I followed his line of vision, and stood up. My gun went up and I looked down at Shane and said firmly, "If you can walk, then run now. And no, you probably don't want me calling you. Ever."

He nodded and scrambled to his feet, and took off. I turned my attention back to the man standing just down the hill, who also had a gun out, not to mention a book that was written in Latin. Before I could say anything, he doused me in water, which only half surprised me. I rolled my eyes and said, "Honestly? If I was possessed, I would have been exorcised right along with the other one." He glared at me and I glared back, not swayed.

He said harshly, "Who are you?"

I glared back and replied, "I'll tell you if you tell me."

` His demeanor softened slightly, but he didn't relax. He cocked his head slightly, and didn't answer my question. Instead he asked, "So you're a Hunter, then."

I said sarcastically, thankfully not thrown off by the fact that he was a man, "Oh, no, I'm just your run-of-the-mill teenage girl. I just happened to be traveling cross-country alone with a gun and a trunk full of weapons and once in a while, I fancy a chat with a demon."

The man looked surprised, almost like he wanted to laugh. Instead he looked at me appraisingly, and said lightly, "You remind me of my son, what with a mouth like that."

I narrowed my eyes. He was really familiar, but I couldn't figure it out. I tightened my grip on my gun and asked again, "Who are you?"

He sighed and lowered his gun slightly, and answered, "I'm John Winchester."

I blinked, thrown off-guard, "Oh. You're – oh. I'm Eden Parker."

No recognition lit his eyes, and I looked at him, a bit annoyed, "Eden Parker. Six years ago. New York City. You saved a little girl from a vampire nest."

John's mouth opened slightly, and he lowered his arm and said, "Oh. That was you." I nodded and he frowned. "What're you doing, here by yourself in Kansas, of all places?"

I dropped my gun, too, but it didn't leave my hand as I replied, "Oh, you know, just scouting the country for demon spikes, trying to keep them at bay."

John sighs, and sounding oddly parental he inquired, "Where are your parents?"

I looked at him, flabbergasted, " _That's_ the question you ask? Not, 'how has your life been in the past six years, Eden?', not ' _why_ are you a hunter all of a sudden?' No, it's ' _where are my parents?'_ "

John sighed. He looked tired. He asked, "Why are you a hunter all of a sudden Eden?"

Slightly surprised, I said irritated, "I found out I was born of a demon deal, and I thought it would be ironic if I hunted them for a living."

He nodded then repeated himself, "Where are your parents, Eden?" I was silent, trying to decide whether to tell him the truth or no, when he said, "They don't know you're here, do you?"

Now _that_ I could answer honestly, "No, they don't." As I expected, John looked angry.

"You are traveling the country hunting _demons_ and your parents don't even know where you _are_?"

Now, that sort of made me angry. He had no right to be all… all… _protective_ of me. I could handle myself. I was still alive, wasn't I? Trying to contain my rage, I answered coldly, "No, they don't _know_ where I am because they're _dead._ "

That stopped John short. His face melted into something I would not admit to myself was pity. He looked sad and asked, "When did that happen?"

Hesitantly, I said, "When I was six."

It took him a moment to process that and soon pity was overtaken by anger again. He looked at me, furious, "When you were six years old? If I recall correctly, just six years ago you told me that you had parents that would keep you safe."

Angry, I retorted, "Your memory's perfect, John. But did it ever cross your mind that I _lied_? A young, eleven-year-old girl that just happened to turn up in a vamp nest? You really believed that I was just taken, and that I was just going to _traipse_ back home and tell them I was out for an extended walk in the park?"

John sighed, "I supposed I should have insisted on taking you back home – "

I shook my head and said vehemently, "No, don't you get it? I was not your responsibility. When you found me, I had already been fending on my own for nearly a year. I was fine."

He scoffed, "Fine? Eden, I found you in a nest! And the male said that they were even going to turn you when you got older? You call that fending for yourself?"

"Yes!" I shot back smartly.

He shook his head angrily and said, "So, what? You were going to wait around for the next decades or so until you hit your prime? And then what? Become one of them and drink human blood and eventually killed by a hunter?"

Trying not to let my anger boil over I seethed, "That is not what this is about. This is about me trying to get you to understand that you were not – and are not – responsible for me."

John refused to be swayed, "So what you're telling me is that you would have been fine? That you would have found a way to escape? That you wouldn't have become one of _them_?"

I ballooned in bottled-up rage and all but shouted, "They had names! Clara and Andrew! They treated me like a daughter, and kept me safe!"

Disgusted, John spat, "Listen to you. You sound like you wanted to become a vamp. Like you wanted to die."

My emotions finally getting the better of me, I screamed, "Even dying back then is better than what I have been through!" I immediately realized what I said, and clammed up.

That brought John up short and he asked, "What've you been through?"

I said, trying to sound indifferent, "Stuff. Things."

John sat down at one of the outside diner tables and gestured for me to join him. I walked down the hill, but I didn't sit. I simply crossed my arms and regarded him. Looking interested, and still infuriatingly parental, he asked, "So what sort of stuff, Eden? What sort of things have you been up to?"

I glared and grudgingly sat down. I muttered, "Life, I guess."

He laughed a bit at that, and replied, "Well, life screws us all over."

I rubbed my temples and mumbled that life apparently had a keen eye on screwing me over. John shook his head slightly and said, not unkindly, "You're a teenager. Teenagers always think life is screwing them over."

Something like a dam that was holding back my emotions broke. My eyes watered in sadness, hatred, anger, and so many emotions that my voice cracked as I spat, "Yeah, well, when life literally screws you over and you end up having a son at the age of thirteen, you damn well have a right to –" I choked and stopped talking, trying not to show John just how much I was really hurting.

I looked away so I didn't have to see his reaction, but I heard the pain that way lying just under his softly-asked question; "What did you just say?"

I looked at him, my eyes probably red with unshed tears, my face contorted in pain, and I whispered, in a strained and heated tone, "Don't you dare judge me. I was twelve, and I was in an alley and all alone and there was not anything I could do, he just _appeared_ and then …" I trailed off when I realized I was crying.

John looked like he wanted to comfort me, but instead he just looked worried, "What happened after that, Eden?"

I wiped my eyes and said in a hollow voice, "I had Danny on the 13th of October, 2002."

John nodded, silently willing me to go on, but I didn't say anything. There was a few minutes' silence, and then he asked, "Where is Danny now?"

Coldly, I replied, "He died last April from leukemia." John nodded, once, with a look that was full of mixed emotions.

"What has the world done to you?" He asked softly after a moment.

I was fairly certain that he had asked that rhetorically, but I replied stonily, "Nothing I can't handle." Silence ensued. Finally, not being able to stand the way John was looking at me, I wiped my eyes again and asked, my voice thankfully sounding steady, "So why are you here in Lawrence? For the same reason I am?"

John blinked and some of the concern left his voice as he asked, "Why are you here?"

"Demon spike centralizing around your old place."

He looked a bit surprised and asked somewhat roughly, "You know about that? How much?"

I shrugged, "Just that your house burned down for 'reasons unexplained'. I compared the weather data and newspapers from then and now, and they're pretty much the same." I was silent a moment, then added, "And I'm sorry about your wife."

He shook his head and said, "Thanks, but I'm fine now."

I smiled sadly and asked softly, "You really think I believe that? You never forget people who you love, especially if it they're taken in an unexpected, horrible way. You don't forget, and you can't let go."

He looked at me with a new look in his eyes. Not respect, exactly, but I think he found me to a bit more world-wise after that. He nodded slowly and said, "You're right on both accounts. I'm here, because a demon named Azazel lit my house on fire and killed my wife, who I still miss every day."

I stared at him in shock, not really taking in any of the words he had said after 'Azazel'. _Azazel._ It was that name again. I cleared my throat and asked, trying to sound off-hand, "And how much, exactly, do you know about him? Azazel, I mean?"

He looked at me, wary, "Why are you interested?"

I thought a moment then answered, "Because he's the one that killed my mom. She died in a house fire, too." I saw John's eyes widen a moment and I continued, "Burned up, pinned to the ceiling? Is that – " He nodded and I did, too. I added, "He also was the one who made the deal with my mom, I think. She couldn't get pregnant, so…" I trailed off.

That look of pity which I had grown to hate in such a short time was back in John's eyes. "So she traded her soul for you?"

My heart skipped a beat as I said faintly, "Her soul? What? No. It was me, I think."

John looked confused, and I pulled out my mom's journal, which John did not look surprised to see. I flipped through the dog-eared pages until I found one, roughly nine-and-a-half month before I was born. I read aloud, " _I finally did it. I couldn't bear to see the look in Peter's…"_ my voice caught in my throat, but I cleared it and continued, "… _Peter's eyes anymore, So I called on A. and asked him to please, give me a child, just one. And I'd offer anything. He agreed, of course, because that's what demons do. I asked him his price, if he wanted my soul, and I begged ten years with my child, but he laughed and shook his head. At first, panic flooded within me, thinking he meant to take me as soon as my child was brought into the world, but the pounding in my head slowed when he said, 'Not your soul, no. I want you to let me visit her.' Her. A girl. A baby girl. I asked what he meant and he smiled in the cunning way that only a demon can and he replied, 'Six months, exactly, after she is born, I want to, see her. All I ask is that you stay out of the way. She will not be harmed, I will not take her. She will remain as she was. That is all.' I, of course, was more than willing. A visit from a demon, in return for a baby? The deal was the fairest I had – and have – ever heard. So I agreed."_ I looked up from the journal, a bitter taste in my mouth as I said, "And, as we both know, she obviously got what she wanted. I'm here. And as we also know, she _did_ get in the way that night. So he killed her."

John looked empathetic, which I hated. I didn't want anyone feeling sorry for me, including myself, and I was starting to. Instead of dwelling on feeling sorry for myself, I said, "So why did he want to come visit me, hmm, John? Why am I so important?"

John looked like he wanted to answer, but he shook his head, "I don't know." _Liar_ , my mind rang, but I pushed it down and I asked, "Azazel came after your son? Sam, was it?"

He looked startled, "Yes, yes he did. How'd you figure that out?"

I shrugged and said, "Like I said, I looked at papers, and I noticed an article about the fire in your house. It said that your son was six-months-old and that the _nursery burst into flames_. I didn't have to do much connecting beyond that." I waited, wondering if he was going to contradict me, but he didn't. He just nodded.

"You're right. Azazel came for my son. I don't know why. But he did. And it tore my family apart, and I heard he was in the neighborhood."

I gave him a lopsided smile. "So you thought you would swing by for a little reunion that would end with your knife in his back, so to speak?" John nodded, and I impulsively said, "Let me come with you."

The surprise was evident in his voice, "What?"

I blinked, and an alarm went off in my brain _No way, don't do it_ but I repeated myself,

pushing down my panic, "Let me go with you hunt the damn demon." John shook his head and I said, not angrily, "Your sons are alive, right? They're okay?"

Startled, John opened his mouth and closed it. Finally he said, "Yes, they're alive. And as far as I know and hope, yes, they're okay."

I said pragmatically, "And so in the long-run, Azazel has screwed up your life a whole lot less. At least you still have people who care about you that are alive."

He blinked. When he answered, his voice was firm, but I could hear the current of uncertainty that was lacing his voice. "That may be, but you're only seventeen and –"

I crossed my arms and said firmly, "And I have faced a hell of a lot more than most seventeen year olds. I am not asking to stay with you forever. Just let me help you kill this son of a bitch. That's all I am asking."

John was silent for a while, then looked at me, considering. Eventually, he said, "I'm not going in there to kill him. Not yet."

I spluttered, "What?"

He amended, "He's not actually there. The EMF readings are high, but not nearly high enough for him to be in the house. Although…" he trailed off.

I suggested, "The fluctuation in the electromagnetic fields was enough to turn on the warning light."

He grinned at that, and nodded and said, "Exactly. So I was going to scout around. When I heard there was a spike over here."

I glanced up the hill, to where Shane had been lying earlier and I nodded. "Well, that spike's been taken care of, and you'll need backup, right? Someone to watch the house in case unwanted visitors come knocking?"

John sighed and said somewhat amused, "That's true." He added as a firm afterthought, "But you have to promise to do exactly what I say."

My eyes narrowed at that, as another small alarm went off in my head. My whole mind was telling me to _stay away_ but there was a small bit of gratitude towards this man that still kept a corner of my heart warm. I returned, "I'll do whatever is in line, given the situation at the time of the order."

He nodded at that, "Fine. Let's go. The house is about twenty minutes from here."

We stood up and I walked to my car. I called over, "I'll follow." John nodded to confirm that he heard me, and I got into my battered old red truck and John got into his nice black one.

Once I started following him, the panic set in. What the _hell_ was I doing? I was following this man to God-know-where, in the middle of nowhere, and I had only met said man once. But he had _saved_ me. Not that I was really put into a better situation after he had gotten me out of that vamp's nest, but still… he could have just left me Clara. Or he could have killed me. But he didn't. I mean, in the long run, I am forever grateful to him for getting me out of there, but at the time, with no idea what was ahead for me, all my mind was say was _no no no;_ do not follow this man _._ about ten minutes into the drive, I almost turned left when he turned right. But somewhere in the back of my mind, a small piece of conscious insisted, ' _You told him you'd be his backup. Go be his backup._ " So I went and was his back up.

We arrived at the house about thirty minutes after leaving the diner. As we pulled up, I felt the tension. Something was definitely not right there. I parked up against the curb, behind John's big truck. I turned off the engine and pocketed my keys, clipping them to a loop on my jeans. I shoved open the door of my tuck. After slamming it shut, I went 'round to the trunk and cracked it open, aware that John was looking at me from a distance. I dug through the contents of my trunk for a moment then pulled out what I was looking for. I walked as casually as I could over John and handed him one of the gadgets I had retrieved from the trunk. Clearing my throat at his raised eyebrow, I explained, "It's a holographic walkie-talkie. We can communicate verbally, and a hologram will pop up if you press this-" I indicated a button, "-and will show you and demonic or supernatural activity within one mile of your location. You can zoom in and out of that radius with your fingers."

John looked slightly surprised and asked, "Where did you come by these?"

I walked over to a tree that stood in the front of the house. I called over my shoulder, "I didn't. I built them. I'll be in this tree, alright? Just call if you need anything." I started to climb, so I didn't see his reaction, but I'm assuming he was impressed or that he didn't believe me.

I sat in that tree for over six hours. Six hours. Every ten minutes, John would buzz in, just so I knew he was okay. John buzzed in 38 times, and it wasn't until the last buzz that he actually said anything; "I'm coming out."

I waited until I saw that he was out of the house – and _alone_ – before I dropped out of the tree from the branch where I had been watching. I expertly did a tuck in mid-air, and landed in a somersault, allowing me to immediately stand in a battle stance, which I immediately relaxed out of. I looked at John intently, waiting for him to tell me what he did or didn't find, but all he did was look up at the tree, then down to me and say, "That was a good twenty feet." I nodded slightly impatient, and he held up the walkie-talkie and clarified, "And you built these."

I nodded again, wondering what he wanted me to say, so I just said, "Yes, two or three years ago. I had a little free time on my hands." He looked a bit surprised and made a small noise that sounded like 'ah'. I frowned slightly and said, "Is there a problem?"

He handed the walkie-talkie to me and sighed, "Only that you grew up too fast."

I blinked and said, caught off-guard, "I mean, I was sort of forced to." I quickly changed the subject; "What did you find?"

He sighed again and said, sounding a bit frustrated, "Nothing. The spikes…"

I finished, "Stopped spiking." He nodded and I asked, "So now what are you gonna do?"

He shrugged, "Keep tracing the spikes, I guess. What about you?" He looked genuinely worried, and I shrugged indifferently. After a moment's pause, I said,

"Probably just drive around the country like I have been. Trying to keep people safe."

John nodded and suggested sincerely, "You could still help me, if you'd like."

Somewhat warily, I asked, "How?"

He pointed at the gadgets in my hands and said, "You're a smart Hunter. If you can build things like that, and do things like that-" he gestured to the tree, implying my earlier stunt, "-then having you around wouldn't be a bad thing." He paused a moment, evidently struggling with another comment he wanted to possibly make. Finally, he sighed and admitted, "It would be nice to have backup."

Curiously, but not wishing to invade, I questioned, "Why not have your sons back you up?"

John looked at me sharply, but I didn't shrink, much to my surprise. I was genuinely curious as to what his answer was, and it was evident that he cared for his children, given the inflection that his voice had when he had talked about them earlier. I think he may have seen the sincerity in my face or maybe he sensed it in my tone. Either way, he said after a hesitant moment, "I don't like to keep them around. For their protection."

I nodded, "Because they're your weakness."

His tone turned sharp, "Why would you say that?"

I shrugged and said plainly, "Because I know what it's like to be a parent, despite our age difference and experiences as such. But, I think, in any circumstances, your children become your first – and sometimes, your only – priority, and I know how that can be dangerous, what with the gig that we run. So you keep them away to keep yourself alive. I get it; I do."

He visibly relaxed and nodded, then said, "Right. So the invitation is open."

I thought a moment, looking at my feet. Slowly, I nodded then looked up. "Yes, that… would be kind of you."

John nodded, then glanced at my truck and laughed slightly, "Well, I know where our first stop is going to be."

I glanced over at my truck, too, and my eyebrows knit. "Where?" I asked.

He grinned at me, "Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Let's get you a new set of wheels."


	3. A Library Scene a la Beauty & the Beast

The drive up to Sioux Falls was a good six and a half hours of… well, nothing. I mean, all things considered, we _were_ driving through Kansas, Nebraska, and South Dakota. Not a whole lot in ways of scenery, just a lot corn and farmland and nothing. But I liked it. I had given John his walkie-talkie back, which was easier than calling one another and a lot cheaper, and he would not stop complaining. If I wasn't trying to stay away from the rising hysteria in the back of my mind, I probably would have been amused. _Eden, are you sure there's not anything around here that we could get rid of?_ Yes, John, I'm sure. _Nothing?_ Nothing. _So just like the scenery._ Right, John. _How do people stand living out here? There's nothing!_ I don't know, John. Maybe they think it's peaceful. _Peaceful, my ass. Nothing is peaceful._ I know, John, but maybe they think it is. _Well, that's…_

And on it went. I wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying. I was mainly focused on trying to breathe. I had no idea where I had gotten the courage – or the stupidity – to agree to go with him. I supposed I was more inclined to trust him because he _was_ a Hunter, and I knew for a fact that that was all he was. When he had doused me with holy water, he had spilled some on himself, pretty purposefully, too. And he just _seemed_ human. When I first met Shane, he was human, but as soon as he walked into the diner the next day, I knew something was up. Not just the fact that it was creepy that he knew where I was but the energy around him felt wrong. And again, there was the way he had gotten me out of the vamp's nest, which was so infuriatingly frustrating because I did _not_ want to feel like I owed this man a debt. I didn't want to owe anyone a debt. But I had so many; my mom for basically sacrificing her life for mine, my dad for keeping me safe despite his early leave, Danny for making the few years I knew him the best of my life, and now to John, a man I hardly knew. A man that I didn't want to trust. A man I kept telling myself not to trust.

Trust. Did I really _trust_ him? Maybe, I guess.

No.

Who was I kidding? I didn't _trust_ John. I didn't _trust_ anyone. I couldn't afford to. And yet, here I was, following him to his _friend's_ place in _Sioux Falls, South Dakota._ If I remembered correctly, Sioux Falls had about 150,000 people in it, so saying we were going to _Sioux Falls_ was like saying the was taking me to a mini- _Chicago_ and not expecting me to ask further questions.

I buzzed John, "So, where, exactly, are we going?"

A few seconds later John's laugh sounded over the radio, "To a friend's. Name's Bobby Singer and he's a Hunter. When he's not on a job, he's holed up in his place in Sioux Falls. Owns a used-car repair shop."

I was silent a moment, detecting the truth in his voice. A couple seconds later, I nodded then realized he couldn't see me so I buzzed, "Okay."

We finally pulled up to this lodge-type house and John parked. I blinked and looked around. _Well,_ I thought, _At least he wasn't lying about this being an auto repair shop;_ there were cars literally everywhere.

I nervously got out of my truck and followed John up to the front door of the lodge-house. The door opened and a fatherly-looking man stepped out, with a hunting rifle that was held at the ready, and instinctively, I tensed, my hand gun went up, pointing at the man's head. John lowered my gun gently, but I didn't relax. I stared down the barrel of this man's gun, inwardly panicking. After a moment, he lowered his gun, too, once he realized, "John?"

John grinned at the man, "Good to see you, Bobby."

I faltered, "You're Bobby Singer."

The man who was Bobby nodded, "Well, I ain't ever been called anything else."

I glared at him a moment, then lowered my gun the rest of the way, still tense. John put a hand on my shoulder, and I froze. He didn't seem to notice, though, because he kept his hand there. It was just a fatherly gesture, but it was enough to make me clam up and start freaking out inwardly, making me feel like my twelve-year-old self all over again. John said to Bobby, "This is Eden Parker."

Bobby took off his baseball cap and rubbed his beard, looking interested. He asked, "Now why would a girl like you be traveling with a guy like John?"

I stayed quiet, not sure how much he knew about Azazel, and John said, "She's hunting the thing that killed Mary with me, for a while."

Bobby's eyebrow raised and he inquired, "Why's she hunting with you, instead of your boys?"

Feeling slightly affronted, thinking he was implying impropriety, I said with a chilly edge in my voice, "He killed my mom, too. I happened to be in the vicinity when John needed backup."

Bobby and John both looked slightly surprised at the underlying hostility in my tone, but I think they took it as my trying not to show sadness. Bobby stared at me, making me slightly uncomfortable, I added somewhat doubtfully, "He also killed my father, apparently. Although I'm fairly certain my dad took his own life. I'm eighteen. I can handle myself."

Bobby nodded, thankfully accepting that answer. He was quiet a moment, then said, "I'm sorry 'bout them. Must've been rough." I shrugged, not answering, not putting my gun back in its holster. Bobby looked at John, and John shrugged. There was a brief silence then Bobby backed into his house, inviting us in with an out-stretched hand.

I didn't make to enter the house. John looked at me. I glanced back at my truck and he understood. "Bobby, Eden needs a new set of wheels. D'you mind if she looks around for a bit?"

Bobby shook his head and shrugged, "She can go right ahead and look around." He looked over at me and said, "Any car you want."

I nodded awkwardly and said, "Thank you." I spun around and walked away as quickly as I could without seeming scared. I waited from a distance, hidden behind an old blue pickup truck, and watched John and Bobby go inside the house. Then I let my panic attack that I had been holding in wash over me.

Have you ever had a panic attack? Be glad you haven't. They're more terrifying than facing twenty demons all by yourself. If you're faced with twenty demons, and you're all by yourself, at least you're in control of your body; not so with a panic attack. Panic attacks come fast and they hit you hard, literally knocking the breath out of your lungs. They're painful enough to make you feel like you're having a heart attack. All in all, not fun.

I hit the side of the pickup truck and sank to the ground, getting dust all over myself, but I couldn't even cough. I hit the ground, choking, gasping for breath. What had I done? I had followed a _man_ to a place I didn't even know anything about. And I had almost told a _man_ my name – not my Hunter name, but my true name. _Sara._ John Winchester was a hunter… and my mom had been a pretty well-known one. What would happen if I told him who I really was? Would he piece it together eventually, anyway? But no one, _no one_ was supposed to hear my real name. Never again. Not even Danny – I sat up, wheezing, clutching the necklace around my neck, trying to even out my erratic breathing, calm the hammering of my pounding heart. _It was okay. It was okay. It was John Winchester. He had two sons, remember? Two sons he had saved from a fire, two sons who were alive and just not here because he wanted them to be safe. And Bobby Singer – Robert Singer – I had heard of him before. I read about him in my mom's journal. I could trust him if my parents had trusted him. It was okay. It was okay. Breathe. Look at the cars and trucks, all decaying and rusting as they sit in this old dusty lot, waiting for someone to pick them and clean them up._ I gulped for air, and my right hand found a rock on the ground. My fingers closed around it, and I clenched it tightly in my hand until the ridges in the rock broke the skin on my palm. I dropped the rock, choking back a sob, not from pain, but from letting my grip on reality slip. I opened my eyes, which up until that point; I hadn't noticed were shut tightly, tears spilling down my cheeks. Blearily, I glanced down at my hand, which was riveted with lines of blood, and I could see where the rock had torn into my skin.

I sighed, and slowly stood up, glancing around. John and Bobby hadn't come back out yet, so I figured I hadn't been in the throes of the panic attack for too long. Another thing about panic attacks is that when you have one, you lose all sense of time. You pretty much lose sense of everything except for what you're panicking about. Taking a few deep breaths, I looked around a bit, leaning against the blue pickup for support, as I was still slightly wobbly from my recent lack of air. Turning around, I looked at the truck a bit.

It was Chevrolet, which was nice. I liked Chevrolets a lot. It was a nice, inky blue, like the color of the night sky. A 1500 Silverado. 1990, I thought. I glanced around, again. There were a ton of cars and trucks. I slapped the flatbed cover on the truck, and it made a hollow sound. I threw it open and inwardly grinned. It was a whole lot bigger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. Just big enough for my hunting gear and personal items. Perfect. I opened the driver's side door and climbed in. The radio looked like it was would work fine, and even if it didn't I could always fix it. The steering wheel was nice; thin and ridged, just like my other truck.

I really liked my other truck, even though it was slowly crumbling into nothingness. I wasn't sure, at first, that I really wanted to trade my truck in, because first of all, who would actually _want_ my truck? and second of all, I had been through pretty much everything but hell in my truck. However, while I had been glancing around, I had noticed a lot of vehicles that seemed even worse off than mine was, and second of all… it was just a truck. I could get over it. I would get over it. Just like all the other hunters that had dumped their old cars in this lot. I had decided that Bobby wasn't really the 'buy-and-sell' type. I thought that he probably just fixed the vehicle of whoever asked him, because whoever asked him would be a Hunter. His place was way out of the way from any other house or building or civilization, which is something that had sparked my panic earlier.

By the time that John and Bobby came back out of the houses, I had mentally deduced that Bobby was a mostly likely someone I did not need to be scared of. I had been checking out the engine when I heard their approaching voices. I shut the hood of the car and straightened up, brushing myself off. As they got closer, I leaned up against the door, and Bobby raised his eyebrows. He asked gruffly, "This is the one that you want? This one?"

I shrugged, "Yeah, I guess. Looks fine to me. Engine is in good condition. Wheels are good. The radio seems to be working fine, and the steering wheel is nice. So is the storage space in the flatbed. Why?"

Bobby's eyes darkened slightly, and my heart started to beat a little faster. Finally he said, "Nothin'. Belonged to a good friend of mine." He cleared his throat at my curious glance and added, "She shared the same name as you, actually. Her name was Eden Mueller. Got killed a few years back."

I felt my eyes widen, and I swallowed. After a moment, I said faintly, "Oh. I'm sorry." He shrugged and I bit the inside of my lip. After a moment, I looked at Bobby and said seriously, "I'll still buy it, if you'll let me."

The way Bobby frowned at me made me blush. Had I said something wrong? I was sort of rusty at communicating with people. Apparently, I _had_ said something wrong because he said, "Like in hell I'd let you buy one of these trucks." So why had they sent me out here to look at the cars if they weren't going to let me buy one? Probably so they could talk freely, without worrying what they were saying in front of me. Still, it was almost rude that they just sent me away, especially after we had driven all this way. Horror started to flood me. Why had John brought me here if not to get a car?

The distrust and dismay must have shown on my face because Bobby added, "I'll _give_ you one, but I'm sure not gonna make you pay for one. If you want, you can just leave your old truck here; take whatever you want from it and put it in this here truck, and then she's yours."

My more cynical side wasn't quite so sure about that, and so I insisted calmly, "No, I really could not _not_ pay you, Robert. I –"

He held up a hand, and stopped me. He said, "For one thing, trading a truck for a truck is a fair deal; with them spare parts and all. And second of all, it's Bobby. Nobody calls me Robert unless it's my mother."

I blinked and then said, "Thank you for the truck. I'll go clean out my old one."

As I walked away, and once there was a distance between us, I heard Bobby say to John, "That's got to be one of the most uptight teenagers I have ever met."

I couldn't have agreed more.

About an hour later, I had successfully hosed down and washed the outside of my new truck. Next, I decided to clean the inside of the truck, which would take a little more work. _My mom's truck. I was going to be driving my mom's old truck._ As I thought about it more and more, the more I remembered the truck. Mom had had it until I was about five, when she came home from a 'business' trip one day without it. She had flown home and told me she quit her job, to spend more time with me. _Because she would die a year after the fact_ , I thought bitterly, _not that she knew that._

After I had thoroughly cleaned my new truck inside and out, I went and got my old truck. I drove her up to where my new truck was, and parked. I got out of my beautiful, crumbling red pickup, and started unloading everything. As stupid as it sounds it felt like moving. I had heard that moving into a new house was difficult, and that truck had been my house and my home for a year at that point. But… my new truck… now that I knew it had belonged to my mom… well, it was like moving into an old house. It was comfy, and somewhat familiar. So it wasn't nearly as emotional as I thought it'd be.

So anyways, once I had moved everything from my cherry pickup to my blue pickup, I decided to clean my cherry pickup, because it'd be less work for Bobby. But at that point, the sun had sunk below the horizon, and I saw Bobby coming out with a lantern."You got everything moved in there?" he asked gruffly. I nodded and he indicated that I follow him into the house. I did, somewhat nervously. I had been right in calling it a lodge, because that's what it looked like on the inside. It was all wood and guns. But there were a lot of books, too, which made me want to smile. But I didn't. Bobby asked me if I wanted anything to eat, and I shook my head and politely declined. He looked at me like I was crazy, but I was used to that, so I didn't react. I wasn't hungry; so sue me. Bobby led me to a fairly large bedroom just down the hall of the kitchen and he said, "You can stay here, if you'd like."

I nodded and thanked him. I went into the room, flipped the light switch and looked around and gasped a little. I had never been in a room that big before, I couldn't help myself. The ceiling seemed to soar above me, and there was huge bed over in the corner that was laden with sweet-smelling blankets, topped with pillows that were so huge and over-stuffed with down that they took up half the bed, and that was saying something, since the bed seemed to be as big as Alaska. There was a bookcase on the northernmost wall – to the left of the door – that ran from wall-to-wall and was chock-full of books. _Books_. I ran my fingers over the hundreds of spines; each full of a story that was ready to be read, to be delved into, knowledge that was yearning to be learned. Tomes and diaries and encyclopedias and leather-bound books and paperbacks and hardcovers and novels and biographies and cookbooks and instruction manuals, all waiting. A small noise of happiness escaped my mouth and I heard a chuckle from the doorway and I whirled, by hand still holding a copy of an Ancient Greek tome, and saw Bobby smiling at me, amused from the doorway. He grinned at my look of surprise and said conversationally, "I guess you like books, then. Well, you can read and borrow as many as you'd like. I have too many."

I went slightly red and said almost wistfully, "You can never have too many books."

Bobby looked a bit surprised then nodded, contemplating my answer. He said, "I guess that's true." He looked at me, small in the room, holding an old book about half as big as me, and he said sincerely, "If you find anything you want to keep, they're yours. All the ones I need are in my study."

My eyes widened slightly in shock and I almost smiled. "Thank you," I said.

Bobby nodded, "Night, then, Eden."

Quietly, I responded, "Good night." And he shut the door.

I actually slept really well that night. Which was weird. I thought I was going to be terrified, paranoid of Bobby and John being in the same house as me. What I did instead was take a really nice shower. Like, a _really_ nice shower. The water pressure was fantastic. It was the first real shower I had had in… forever I guess. I was still taking baths when mom was killed – I was six, so that's not _weird_ – and so I never really had taken a shower in, you know, a house before. Not one I felt safe in, anyways. The showers at the hospital where I lived for two and a half years sucked, so no, those were not pleasant times in that aspect of my well-being. Okay, enough about the shower. Once I had gotten dressed and stuff, I spent half an hour walking up and down the bookshelves, pulling random books and going through them. I had already placed the Greek book on the bed; it was a handwritten account of some hunter's life that dated back to 34 B.C., and I marveled over why Bobby had that on his shelf, of all places. I had glanced at it, and it seemed pretty interesting, although why someone was writing in Ancient Greek in that time period, I did not know. I mean, the fall of Ancient Greece was almost 500 to 800 years prior to that. And I'm not a nerd for knowing that. That's your basic high-school-history-class information. And yes, it's beside the point I didn't ever _actually_ go to high school.

After an hour, I had a collection of about a dozen books on my bed. About half of them were hunter's journals or books on mythology – there was one book that was about five pounds and, from what I could tell, was written by many different people, and they all talked about gods and goddesses from their culture. There were all sorts of mystical beings covered in this book; Inca, Slavic, Oceanic, Egyptian, Mayan, Norse, Tibetan, Japanese, Finnish, you name it. It was a worldly book, quite literally. Another book was one about world history entitled _The Historie of the World under the Influence of Daemons._ That book, the world history book, was only one of the three in English. The others were in Greek, Hebrew, Latin, German. One was in Portuguese. But I could read them all, so what did it matter what language they were in? After successfully pulling those books from the shelf, I stacked them nicely and put them on the bedside table, and looked at the bed itself uncertainly.

I don't know why, but beds sort of made me nervous, probably just because I didn't sleep in them all that often, so when I was presented with the chance, I felt uncertain. Actually, this really weird feeling had been floating through my body ever since Bobby had left. I thought at first maybe they had drugged me, but I hadn't eaten or drunk anything. And the books certainly weren't poisonous. I pulled the covers back on the bed and hesitantly climbed in. Wow, was that bed soft. I didn't weigh much, but I certainly weighed enough that I just sank down into the mattress, which startled me a moment, but once I had lay down, and got comfortable (which wasn't hard), I realized that the bed was really, really nice. And that's when I finally identified that weird feeling. It was _calm._ I was feeling _calm_ for the first time in pretty much my whole life. I could fake being calm, and I did a lot. But I really, truly felt calm right then. I didn't realize how uptight I usually was until I was lying in that bed. I felt safe; I had locked the door and the windows, and there were protective symbols engraved into the wooden beams in the room that warded of demons. The bed was soft and sweet-smelling, and with a heavy-eyed jolt, I realized that I might just actually trust Bobby and John. Which is something I never thought would be possible; trusting men. That night was the night I received a full nights' rest since my father had died.

And it was glorious.


	4. Garth is a Dog Deal With It

When I woke up that next morning, I was really, really disoriented for a good five minutes, because I was still mentally half-asleep, so I didn't bother opening my eyes. My thought process was pretty much this; _Oh, my word, this is the nicest bed I've ever slept in. Wait. Wait wait. Bed. Why am I in a bed? Where am I that even has a bed? Bed? What? It's nice. Feels clean. Not a motel – what –_ And so I opened my eyes and shrieked quietly in surprise.

There was a dog sleeping two inches from my face, which I was not expecting, since Bobby never mentioned he had a dog, and I never saw a dog last night. I actually had never been that close to a dog before, so I wasn't completely sure what it was, until his tail hit me in the face, making me smile a little bit. Something also bit at the back of my mind. Hadn't I locked the door?

I sat up a bit and whispered, "Hey, buddy, how'd you get in here?" The dog's head shot up and his tail wagged happily and I rolled my eyes, but I ended up smiling despite myself. I rubbed his back a minute. Throwing the covers back, I walked over to the door, and found it unlocked and ajar. But the lock was only on the inside so…

Feeling foolish, but not wanting to admit to myself I didn't lock the door, I crept back to the dog, who was still on the bed, watching me curiously. I looked that dog in his big, brown eyes and I whispered, " _Cristo."_ Yeah, nothing happened. And don't laugh; I was a really cautious person. So once I made sure the dog wasn't possessed by a demon – which sounds ridiculous now, and I knew it was ridiculous then. Possessing something that could not talk or wield a weapon was sort of pointless – I sat on the bed and pondered. I was pretty sure I had locked the… _no, wait. I hadn't locked the door, had I?_ I couldn't remember actually going to the door and locking it. I remember Bobby shutting it, but I never actually locked it.

That terrified me. The fact that I had spent the night in a house with two strange men and I hadn't even locked the door, which meant they could have come in and… I shivered. I shut my eyes and told myself firmly, _Stop. Just stop. Nothing happened._ A small, scared voice in the back of my head protested, _But what if –?_ And I physically shook my head and said quietly, "No. No. They're good men, for Hunters. They aren't going to hurt me. So just shut up."

To distract myself, I went and took another shower. When I emerged from the bathroom, the dog was still on the bed, looking at me intently, and I sighed. "Come on," I said. The dog wagged his tail and bounced off the bed.

What do you mean, _what kind of dog was he?_ I don't know. A dog. A lab or something. _No, I do not know what kind of dog he was, I am sorry._ And don't say _I should know because I'm smart_. I was only knowledgeable on things like nuclear weapons and world history because I _needed_ to know those things to stay alive on a day-to-day basis. I did _not_ need to know the different breeds of dogs. End of discussion.

I walked out into the hall and glanced around, listening. I could hear John and Bobby in the kitchen, so that's where I went, despite my inner-hesitancy. The dog followed behind me, but went right over to Bobby once we had reached the door to the kitchen. Bobby looked up from the book he was reading at the table and nodded at me, "I see you've met Garth."

I was confused. "Garth?"

He patted the dog's back and said, "My dog. Garth."

I nodded, "Right. Yes. He's nice."

Bobby looked at me a little funny. I thought then it was because I was really uptight for a teenager, like had said the night before. Not that I could help that. Looking back, I realized that I sounded really formal around him and John. Also, sort of cold. And mean. Basically, I sounded like a normal teenager, just with more… supernatural street-knowledge. I mean, I suppose I was polite. Put it was a cold politeness. A non-trustworthy politeness. I meant it every time I said 'thank you', but I realized that it probably wasn't being conveyed emotionally, and I sort of realized that, so I thought maybe I needed to work on showing my gratitude a little more. I twisted the ring on my right hand, a nervous habit, and said sincerely, "Thank you for the books. If you would like to see which ones I've chosen, I can bring them out here."

Bobby thought about that a moment, then nodded, agreeing, "That may be a good idea. Would you mind?" I shook my head, and returned a few minutes later with all the books, one stacked on top of another, and Bobby jumped up and looked like he wanted to help, since the stack of books was taller than I could see around, but I was fine. I set them down on the table in three piles, and he sat down, and reached for the book closest to him. It was the Ancient Greek one. He opened it and immediately asked, "Can you read this?"

He looked up at me, and I nodded and said quietly, "Yep."

He blinked and opened his mouth to say something when John walked in and announced, "I need to go." I started to ask _where_ he was going but he added quickly, "It's not Azazel, Eden. I just have an obligation that I need to go fulfill."

I nodded, not asking, not wanting to ask, but still curious deep down somewhere. John didn't elaborate though, and I didn't want to press him, but I asked, "Will you be coming back at least?"

John nodded, not saying anything, but it was Bobby who understood what I meant and he said, "Eden, you're welcome to stay here while John goes off on his little sabbatical. If you wouldn't mind, you could translate that Ancient Greek book for me."

I inwardly felt almost excited, because if I could stay _inside_ in a _house_ with someone I could maybe _trust_ AND I could translate things for them as a kind of payment then I would feel safe, and my debt to that person would be paid… and I could maybe be happy. Outwardly, though, I nodded and supplied modestly, "Sure. If you want me to translate anything else, I will, if it's in a language I know. I know about nine."

Bobby shrugged, "Sure, kiddo. That'd be great." I think if someone else had called me 'kiddo' I would have winced at the familiarity, but there was something… fatherly in his tone, and so I just nodded and nervously asked if he wanted me to make breakfast. He looks surprised, and so did John, but Bobby said that it'd be great if someone made breakfast, since all he was planning on having was a bottle of beer. I made a face which made him laugh and say somewhat defensively, "I live by myself, kid. I'm not particularly interested in the culinary arts."

I shrugged, accepting his answer. John asked Bobby if they could talk _alone_ in the next room, which I was actually sort of relieved to hear, because I didn't want to cook with them in the kitchen. I was self-conscious about people watching me.

I hadn't cooked pancakes for a few years, but I still knew how to make them. Cooking is really relaxing, actually. Very calming. I had to locate everything that I needed first, which took about ten minutes. Half an hour later, I had made two dozen pancakes, some bacon, a big bowl of scrambled eggs, and had set the table. I was actually feeling kind of happy, for the first time in forever, being alone and cooking, but the happiness sort slipped back into the depths of my heart once John and Bobby came back in. Garth had left a while ago, and was sleeping somewhere, I was assuming. Or whatever dogs did. I wasn't sure.

May I just say I was pretty proud of myself for not completely crumbling around them? They _were_ men, after all. And I hadn't been around men for about five years. When I was in the hospital, I specifically asked for the doctor who took care of Danny to be a woman, and that the nurses were women. I was questioned as to why that was, of course, and after some blushing and courage-building, I finally was able to tell them, and they, thankfully, respected my request. Consequently, I didn't have to interact with men for pretty much that whole span of time.

So the fact I had held somewhat successful conversations with two fully-grown men, managed not to run away screaming from them _and_ had cooked them breakfast without being too tempted to poison them was a pretty big feat for me. I watched them take in what I had made, slightly nervous as to what their reactions were going to be. Bobby looked gratified, but John's response was a bit more muted; more… mixed. He seemed like he appreciated it, but he also sort of looked sad, and with an inward jolt, I realized that he may not have had any home-cooked meals since his wife, Mary, had died. I didn't have to focus on that too long, however, because Bobby broke the silence with, "That sure is a heck of a lot of food."

I shrugged and John nodded at me in thanks. I flourished the spatula I was holding over to the table and instructed, "Eat before it gets cold. I don't want all that money going to waste."

John and Bobby sat down and started pulling copious amounts of food onto their plates and a minute or two later, Bobby looked at me curiously. He asked, "What d'you mean, money?"

I looked at him like he was crazy and said somewhat uncertainly, "Well, you have to have food to eat, and you have to have money to have food. And Hunters aren't particularly known for their vast amounts of wealth."

Bobby looked at me, considering what I had just said. A second later, he nodded and agreed, "I suppose that's true. You don't need to worry about my money, though, Eden. I'm well-off, for an old guy."

I blushed slightly and muttered, "Sorry. That was just me talking. I'm used to not having a lot of money to go off. Habit, I guess."

John looked up from his pancakes, which I was relieved to see were at least good enough for him to eat, and he inquired, "Where have you been getting your money?" He paused and included as an afterthought, "Do I want to know?"

I don't think the question meant to imply indecency, but I certainly perceived it that way. Thankfully, I didn't get upset. I just got embarrassed. I blushed and retorted, "I got my money from a perfectly acceptable and honorable source. When I was with Danny, I was able to live off funds that my aunt from Ireland provided me with, and I lived at the hospital. And after that, I traveled to my parents' old home, which legally belongs to me, so it's not been sold to anyone else, and I retrieved what funds they had in the house. I have plenty, but understandably, I have to be conscientious of how much I spend."

John raised an eyebrow and merely said, "Wise of you." He stood up, with his now-empty plate and brought it over to the sink. He clapped me on the shoulder in thanks, making me wince. He quickly withdrew his hand and said gently, "Thank you. I'll be back in a few days. I'll keep in touch."

I nodded and he walked out the door. A moment later, he came back in, and I looked up from the floor, where I was leaning against the counter while Bobby ate. He said to me, inquiring, "Would you look up some information on demons while I'm gone?"

I quirked an eyebrow and asked, "Any ones in particular?"

John just shook his head and said, "No. Anything and everything you can dig up."

I nodded and replied agreeably, "I can do that."

He nodded at me once, then over to Bobby and said, "See you soon, Bobby."

Bobby answered with a 'see you around', then went back to eating his second stack of pancakes. The door shut, and John was gone. I awkwardly stood on the opposite side of the kitchen, looking at the ground, playing with the ring on my right hand, middle finger. It was my mom's. Bobby ate for a minute then looked up at me questioningly. I noticed him staring at me and I asked, "Something wrong?"

He looked at me funnily – he was doing that a lot and it was starting to put me on edge a little – and he stressed, "Yeah, there is. You're just standing there. You gonna eat something?" I blinked a moment. That thought literally hadn't occurred to me. I shook my head and Bobby frowned, "Why not? You didn't eat anything last night and now you're not eating anything today. This is some great food here, kid. You need to keep your energy up."

I bit my lip and he continued to stare at me with a look that demanded an answer. After a moment, I mumbled, "I don't like eating in front of people all that much, if I can help it."

Bobby made a noise that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a choke, which made me feel slightly gratified. At least he was attempting to _not_ laugh me straight in the face. I wasn't sure how to respond to his choking, since it didn't sound life-threatening, so I remained stationed where I was. After a bit, Bobby finally cleared his throat, and deadpanned, "You are one of the weirdest kids I've ever met. And that's meant with all due respect."

I shrugged and accepted, "Well, I'm my own person. Of course I'm weird."

He chuckled at that and amended, "True, though not quite what I meant."

Curious, I appealed to him, "What did you mean, then?"

He rubbed his beard a moment, looking at me. Finally, he responded, "You're formal. Almost too formal for a teenager. The way you talk reminds me of someone who speaks English as a second language -" I opened my mouth to interject, but he held a hand up, so I remained silent, and he continued, "-but I can tell from your accent and your name that you're about as American as I am. Also, the way you cleaned that truck yesterday was very professional, and I'm impressed." I smiled a bit at that, surprising myself; I hardly ever smiled anymore. Bobby wasn't don't talking though, "You apparently know at least nine languages. Where'd you even go to school?"

"I didn't," I admitted. But just because I never had what you may call a _formal_ education doesn't mean-"

Bobby's voice broke over mine, surprised, "Never? I am further impressed. I'm also slightly concerned by your lack of emotion."

Man, was he blunt and straight-forward with things. I had only met him about twelve hours prior, and he was already lecturing me. I sort of seemed glued to the tile on which I was standing on, because although I tensed up and wanted to run, I didn't. I was interested in what he had to say. No one had ever really… evaluated my personality before, and I was curious. I wanted to know. So I asked, slightly wary, "What do you mean?"

He sat back in his chair, crossed his arms, and regarded me with a slightly incredulous air as he said, "Kid, you are one of the most distant people I've met. And that's saying a lot, given my 'friends' are pretty much psychotic serial killers for their day jobs. The only time I've seen you act remotely like a human, no offense, was when you were with all them books last night."

I silently reflected on all the conversations I had had with him since last night. First off, I had pointed my gun at him. _Hunter._ Next, true to my teenager, I had reported I could take care of myself; I had ignored his sympathetic apology about the passing of my parents. Shame burned my cheeks and I apologized sincerely, "I'm sorry. Men make me really nervous. I apologize if I acted rude, I didn't mean it. I was simply trying not to full-out panic."

Bobby looked surprised and acknowledged, "Well, that was some human right there. And you don't need to apologize, kid. I don't know what your story is, but I'm willing to listen, if you need someone to talk to." He paused then added, "Though don't be looking for therapy from me. I'm not a psychiatrist."

I actually smiled at that, which made Bobby raise an eyebrow. I said, "Thank you, Bobby."

He looked at me, and I realized he was waiting for me to tell him whether I would talk to him about my past or not. Sighing, I lifted myself onto the counter, and ran through my hair, not sure what to say, where to begin. I paused a moment and thought to myself, _You're really going to tell him your life story?_ Then another moment later, I replied to myself, _Yes. Yes. I have to tell someone._ So I took a deep breath, and talked; talked more than I had for a very long time. Here's what I told Bobby:

 _Well, I grew up with my mother and father in a small town in Michigan. They were nice, very caring, very kind. Then, when I was six, my mother was killed by Azazel, in the same way Mary Winchester was killed. My father… well, he was understandably upset, but three weeks after my mother was killed… he shot himself in the head. I was sent to my maternal grandparents' home in Illinois, where I lived with them for the next few years, until I was about ten, by which time they had both passed from old age. I ran, and was running for nearly a year, when a pair of vampires by the names of Clara and Andrew found me, and they took me in. I didn't know what they were almost half a year. I was merely glad that they treated me kindly; as one of their own. It was after I had been with them for about six months when I discovered that they were vampires, and that they planned to turn me when I was seventeen or eighteen. I was not particularly distraught, not knowing how bloodthirsty they truly were. It wasn't until four months later I discovered that, when I saw them kill a man. I was plotting to escape when John came bursting onto the scene, rescuing me and killing Andrew in the process. What happened next was my fault. I told John that my parents were nearby and that he didn't need to take me home, that I knew exactly where we were, and I knew how to get home. So he left me. I was in New York City, and had no idea where I was. I was twelve. So I wandered the alleys of the city, staying away from anyone and everyone. To be honest, I'm not quite sure how I managed to survive, but I do know that… that in early February of 2002, my life… took a nosedive. It was night, and I was huddled up by myself in an alley and all of a sudden there was just… this man. And he saw me all by myself, and he grabbed me and pinned me to the ground and started hitting me and I was terrified. He hit my head against the ground, and I blacked out. And I awoke to pain and…_ I had paused here, my mind whirling with the memories I had tried so very hard to forget. I wasn't sure how much I should say, how much I wanted to say, but there was something about Bobby, an air of honesty and earnest sympathy, that made me want to keep talking. So I did. … _and it hurt. It hurt really badly. The bastard that raped me left soon afterwards, leaving me lying on the ground, hurt and bleeding. Somehow, I managed to get myself to a hospital. I don't really remember the next few weeks. Or months. Basically, I had a boy I named Daniel. He was really small, because I was really small, so we both spent five or six months in the hospital. I also didn't have a house that I could live in, and being only thirteen, I couldn't really go live somewhere, so I just sort of lived there, at the hospital, which was sort of fine, but not really, because when Danny was almost three, he was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia, and he spent the next year and a half in the hospital._ I stopped at that point, sort of crying, and I wasn't looking at Bobby. I told the floor monotonously, _I would sing to him a lot. He really liked cheesy songs like 'Carry on My Wayward Son' and 'You Are My Sunshine'. He was fascinated with angels and God. And the sky. But what he really loved were the stars. We'd watch them out his window every night, and he told me that when he got to be big he wanted to go see them, but only if it was with me. I said that of course we could go see the stars. And then he fell into a coma and…_ My voice was hollow; _and he died. On the 13_ _th_ _of April, 2007. And then I had to bury him – what do you do when a four-year-old dies? What can you possibly do?_ I sighed and finished wearily, _And I was filled with hate and rage. I bought an old truck after hitch-hiking back to my old house and finding money and hunting clothes. And I went on a supernatural killing spree. And I still am. That's it. That's my story._

I sighed and looked at Bobby, and saw that he had a tear on his cheek, which I had not been expecting. He was shaking his head and he wiped his eyes. A silence fell on the kitchen, and finally he said, "There aren't words that I could possibly say that would express how much pain listening to that caused me."

I wiped my eyes and said quietly, "That's fine. Thanks for listening."

Bobby nodded and said nothing, because really, what else was there to say?

I spent the next few days translating that Ancient Greek book for Bobby, the length of which was not nearly as long as he thought it was, because it was a diary, and only three-fourths of the actual book had writing, and Ancient Greek is a far more intricate language than English, so the Greek writing took up a lot more room than the English translation did. Also, the man who wrote the book, Anakletos, had a large script. The whole thing overall, was actually really interesting. Anakletos was writing in Ancient Greek, you found out fairly quickly, because hardly anyone spoke it at that time. He was living in Egypt, and only high officials spoke the language, and he was a very poor person by Egyptian standards, so he did not have to worry about his colleagues reading up on his entries. That was probably for the best, too, as all he really wrote about was the jobs that he went on, the things he killed, how he killed them, and so on. I have to say it; Anakletos was pretty fantastic. I could probably tell you a good half of the entries, but that's not the point of why I'm telling you this.

John, true to his word, called every night. I told him that first night that I was going to translate the book for Bobby first, and then I'd compile the demon information for him, and he was a bit reluctant about that at first, but I eventually persuaded him by saying that there was only one copy of this Ancient Greek text, and there were innumerable books on demons. After a bit of talking, he finally, grudgingly agreed. I finished translating the book by the evening of the second full day that I was there, which was a lot sooner than I had originally anticipated. I, obviously, had not had a need to read or write or speak Ancient Greek on a day-to-day basis, so I was afraid that it would be a struggle for me to translate, but the language came flowing back to me really quite immediately, which was nice

So by the third night of John calling, I had already compiled some basic information on a plethora of demons. He told me to wait until he called the next day, because then he would have some colleagues there with him, and I could just tell them all at once. I was a little annoyed by that, but I told him that that was fine, and that I'd talk to him the next night.

And talk to him the next night, I did. I had a list of eighteen demons that I had been researching. When John called, I cut right to the chase. "I've got a list of over sixty demons and their various differentiating tasks and powers. I can read off a few, if you'd like."

"Sure. That'd be great," John's answering voice sounded farther away than usual, so I figured he was on speaker.

"Well, first we have Abbadon, who is sometimes called Apollyon," I reported, "She's the king of the demons of hell."

I heard an unfamiliar male voice, "Wait. _She's_ the _king_ of hell?"

I stiffened at his voice. It sounded like the kind of voice that belonged to someone who was used to sweet-talking people. He was at least five years older than me, I thought. Maybe closer to ten, and that made me really uncomfortable. But I knew he wasn't actually there with me and I managed to make my voice sound normal when I replied somewhat testily, "She's the king of the _demons_ of hell. Demons aren't sexist. She's also a knight to the actual King of Hell, who is a demon named Crowley."

"Wait, so, a demon is the King of Hell? Shouldn't that be Lucifer?" Yet another male voice asked. This one's voice though, wasn't nearly as incredulous or harsh. He sounded younger, maybe only a couple of years older than me. For some reason, that made me even more nervous, but he sounded genuinely interested as to what my answer might be, so I didn't pause before I answered.

"As far as I can tell, titles like 'king' and 'knight' don't have the same denotation as they do here on earth. In hell, the higher your 'rank', the more powerful you are, but not in a ruling sense; but in a 'strength' way. Crowley is theoretically the most powerful demon in hell, and he sort of runs things, I believe. And Lucifer actually _owns_ hell, and all the souls in it, including the demons and whatever ese is down there." The second voice seemed satisfied with that, and stated his thanks. John cut in then, not talking to me, but to the other voices, telling them to be quiet and listen to me. I swallowed hard, and relayed my gathered information to them;

"Next there is a demon called Xa-Mul, who likes to swallow people whole, and Karau, who is a Panamanian demon whose only wish is death to the world –"

Despite John's request that he stay quiet, the first voice was back, much to my irritation. "Death to the world? Like, the people or the whole freaking world?"

I inwardly sighed and stated aloud, "To the world, as in, everything on this planet; people, plants, animals, major landforms, buildings, civilization in general, dust bunnies, graphite. What would make him happiest is if the world spontaneously combusted and everything on Earth, and the Earth itself, was ripped to pieces."

He muttered, "He got up on the wrong side of the bed."

I ignored him and continued, "There is also Xic, who is a Guatemalan demon who brings sudden death to men."

"D'you bring sudden death to men, sweetheart?" The first voice asked. I closed my eyes, and didn't say anything, but smiled a bit when I heard what sounded like someone being whacked upside the head.

The second voice said, "She might, if you don't shut up, jerk." There was a few moments pause as the first voice mumbled something indistinguishable, but it sounded an awful lot like 'bitch'. I wasn't sure if that was directed at me or not, but I continued, coolly,

"And a Panamanian demon of illness named Ikwaokinyapippilele."

"Oh, my God," the second, nicer voice said in disbelief, "Who?"

I smiled a bit and repeated, "Ikwaokinyapippilele."

"I can't even begin to spell that. How do you spell that?" he said, sounding resigned.

Patiently, I stated, "I-K-W-A-O-K-I-N-Y-A-P-I-P-P-I-L-E-L-E."

There was a moment's silence, and I heard someone typing on a keyboard, so I assumed he had been typing all that I had said down. The voice said, "Thanks."

"And there are more?"John asked.

I agreed, "Right. About sixty. I've taken rather extensive notes about each one."

John had another question, "So you finally got that Ancient Greek book translated?"

"Yes. It really didn't take that long, considering," I replied.

The less-than-appealing male voice was back with a snarky, "Considering what?"

The second voice sounded in disbelief, "Considering she translated an Ancient Greek text into English, Dean! Nobody reads Greek!"

 _Dean._ Dean Winchester? Was _that_ who the first voice was? That rude, conceited, full-of-himself voice? Did that mean the other voice, the nicer one, was Sam Winchester? I pushed that aside for a moment and paid attention to what Dean was saying, "Yeah, except for Greeks."

"Wow. Good logic there," I said sarcastically rolling my eyes, "but he's right; Ancient Greek is called 'Ancient' for a reason. It is a dead language, like Latin."

Dean sounded disgusted and John said something to him, I don't know what, but Dean stopped. The other boy, Sam, I thought, asked me, "So how many languages do you speak?"

Somewhat nervously, I answered, "Nine; English, Latin, German, Italian, Spanish, French, Welsh, Portuguese, Ancient Greek…" I trailed off as Sam stayed silent.

A few seconds later, he said incredulous and amazed, "Nine. You speak nine languages. How in the world do you speak nine languages?"

I bit my lip and said tentatively, "Well, English is my first language. My mother and father taught me Latin, German, and Italian when I was young. And I've taught myself the rest since then."

Sam sounded absolutely skeptical at this point. He repeated, "You taught the rest to yourself."

I sighed, "Yes, I did."

"That is really freaking awesome. But that's also really nerdy," came Dean's voice.

I paused then said, "Thanks. I think."

"How old are you, anyway?" He said, interested.

I closed my eyes and said somewhat reluctantly, "Eighteen." I was pretty sure Dean whispered _she's legal_ , but Sam overrode him and asked,

"So did you go to a school somewhere for a while, or –?" He left the question hanging.

I really, really, did not want to get into the details of my life with these two boys. Sam seemed okay, for a guy, but Dean was enough to make me cringe, even though he wasn't remotely anywhere near me, because John said that they were in Missouri. But I answered him, warily, "My mother and father home-schooled me until I was almost seven. When they died, I went to live with my grandparents, and they taught me until I was ten, when they both passed. And I've taught myself everything else since then." There was silence on the other end. I didn't know what kind of a reaction to expect. Certainly not the one I got, though.

It was Dean: "I'm sorry."

I was silent a moment, slightly surprised to hear him express sympathy – or could it have even been empathy? – to me, then I replied, "Thank you. It was a long time ago. I've gotten used to the fact."

Sam's voice sounded somewhat more hesitant as he asked, "So what's your name? Dad didn't tell us. He left a bit ago."

"How do you even know him? Do we want to know?" Dean added quickly.

So it _was_ the Winchester boys. I wasn't sure if that was particularly reassuring or not. And I wasn't sure that I wanted to tell them my name, but I figured John would just tell them, and besides, I was annoyed at everyone assuming that I was a prostitute or something.

"My name," I said nettled, "is Eden Parker. And I know your father because when I was eleven, he saved me from a nest of vampires. And we happened to run into each other by chance the other day."

Dean muttered something about chance meetings and I said heatedly into the phone, "You need to stop assuming that every male and female relationship is one that is sexually involved. Life is not about sex." Sam laughed, though I hadn't meant to be funny. I was really mad. _Men. Always sexualizing things._

Dean sarcastically shot back, "It is if you want it to be. Sex and violence is how I like it."

I quipped, "Well, if we ever meet, you can be assured that you will more readily get the latter out of me."

Sam sounded amused, "That's got to be the first time a girl's turned you down, Dean."

"It will not be the last," I muttered. Sam laughed and Dean made a scathing noise in the background. I was surprised that I was actually carrying on a conversation with two boys who were kind of sort of near my age. But I was on the edge of cracking. I needed to get off the phone and go calm down. I said into the phone, "Alright. I need to go back to work. Tell your father that I will continue to compile the information that he requested."

"Okay," Sam agreed. He paused and added, "It was nice talking to you, Eden."

I said politely, "Thank you. It was a pleasure. Take care."

I hung up the phone. That's when I realized I had sweat clean through my shirt. That's when I realized that I was shaking like mad, and my stomach was churning. That's when I stumbled to the bathroom and got sick. And that's when I passed out.

' _Ow'_ was my first conscious thought. My head hurt like hell, and I felt awful. I slowly opened my eyes and blinked under the glaring florescent lights of the bathroom. I slowly sat up, a wave of dizziness hitting me like a ton of bricks. My stomach wasn't roiling any longer, but it felt sore, as well did every other part of my body. I had spent that entire phone conversation so taut that I hadn't even noticed until I had hung up the phone. I sat in the bathroom for about half an hour, trying to calm the fast beating of my heart. Eventually, I was able to stand up steadily, and I ventured out of the bathroom to find Bobby sitting in the kitchen, with Garth sleeping at his feet. Bobby looked up when I entered and he asked worriedly, "You okay?"

I nodded certainly, my head pounding. I assured him, "I'm fine. Thank you for asking."

I'm fairly positive he didn't believe me, but he let it pass. Bobby stood up and told me, "I'm going out for a bit. Need to get some groceries."

I said, "Okay," in a rather pained way, and Bobby looked concerned for a moment, but he left me alone.

As soon as he was out the door, I stumbled back to the room I was staying in and fell on the bed, clutching my head. My headache had seemingly become a migraine, which I thought strange, my head just hurt earlier where I had hit it against the bathroom floor. Pain building behind my eyes, I squeezed them shut, hoping the pain would pass. But it didn't. The pain kept building and building until I literally thought my head would explode. There was a ringing in my ears, an ungodly noise that sounded like a high-pitched scream that kept getting louder and louder and _louder_ and LOUDER AND _LOUDER_ AND-

And the windows shattered, sending glass ricocheting everywhere, including into my arms and face. I screamed and shielded myself as best I could, and all at once the noise stopped and silence descended upon the house. Sobbing in pain, I slowly got up off the bed, cutting my bare feet on the glass that had landed on the floor in the process. I somehow managed to get to the bathroom and I sat heavily down on the edge of the bathtub. I spent the next two and a half hours tweezing out pieces of glass from my feet, arms, and face. Thankfully, the cuts on my face weren't deep at all; mostly scratches. My arms were another story, however. I was still pulling out huge shards of glass when Bobby knocked on my door.

I told him to come in and he blinked, looking around the room, and asked urgently, "What happened?"

Depositing a huge chunk of glass that I had just removed from my lower left arm into the garbage, I groaned, "I don't know. There was this awful noise that just kept getting higher in pitch and louder until the windows broke."

"And got you pretty nastily," Bobby observed.

I glanced down at my arms and feet, which were covered in blood and I nodded, my headache thankfully gone. "Yeah," I said vaguely, "I guess."

Bobby sighed and told me there was ointment in the medicine cabinet, along with bandages. I nodded that I understood, and he left, going to make a few calls, he said.

I got bandaged up, wrapping my arms wrist-to-shoulder in gauze. I encased my feet in the stuff, too. I managed to get my boots from the bedroom and pull them onto my feet. I winced as I walked down the hall to the kitchen, where I heard Bobby talking on the phone. I hesitated, not sure if I should walk in on him talking or not. But then I heard him say my name, _Eden,_ and I couldn't resist. I had to eavesdrop. Thankfully, years of wishing to go unnoticed provided me with a smooth and soundless gait. I creeped up to the door, and listened. Bobby was talking low and insistent;

"You said, John, that she's gone through the same treatment that you and your sons have. She's as much of a victim of that damned demon as you and your boys are! So why are you using her?" My blood froze. _Using me?_ Using me for what? Bobby continued, "She's 18, John. You can't use her as a piece of meat! You really think Azazel would fall for that?" I was ready to up and out of there, but Bobby seemed to be on my side, which I thought was kind of him, so I stayed and listened some more. I sort of caught on to what John's plans seemed to be, because I could faintly hear his voice on the other end of the phone. _John_ , it seemed, was leaving Sam and Dean out of the way, making sure they were safe. And he only wanted to hunt with _me_ because he knew _I_ had been another of Azazel's targets, and he wanted Azazel to come out of hiding because of _me_ and he wanted Azazel to attack _me_ so that _he, John,_ could kill him, Azazel.

He wanted that son-of-a-bitch to attack me, and probably kill me, so that he, in turn could kill Azazel. Well, that was nice. Nice, John. Using an eighteen-year-old girl as bait.

Real fatherly.

I had heard enough. John was using me. That was it. I was out of there. Fuming, I hobbled back to the room I was staying in, and threw everything into my bag. _Using me_. That's when I decided;

You couldn't trust anyone.


	5. Internal Screaming

I was fuming mad; seriously pissed at John. I felt bad about leaving Bobby, because he was nice enough to have attempted to defend me, but I really didn't want to be at the house when John got back. I wrote Bobby a note that explained my thanks and I left some money for my new truck on the counter. Not a lot, a thousand dollars or so, but I couldn't just _leave_ without paying him something. I had also eaten some of his food for the past four days. Not to mention all those books he gave me. I gathered them up, my new, precious books, and loaded them into a crate that I found in his warehouse, and packed them into the truck.

As I drove, I turned up the music on the radio really loud, so that the music would block out my angry thoughts. I tried to focus on driving the truck. It was the first time I took her out driving. The gearshift took a bit more work to move than my cherry truck, but I did really like the slimness of the wheel. I have really tiny hands. The radio actually worked, too, as you have already discovered.

Okay, so focusing on driving the truck distracted me for about five minutes, and then my rage took over. A torrent of angry thoughts roiled in my mind; _How dare he? How dare he build my trust in him, only to turn around and stab in the back later? Was I not worth enough as a human to stay alive?_

Wait. Was that it? I didn't have enough worth? I was worth enough to sacrifice, but not enough to protect? I mean, I knew I wasn't really at all important, but I figured… I was spending my life killing demons and all the other ugly things out there that were trying to decimate the human race. Wasn't that enough? I guess not.

Something changed in me that day. I'm not saying that I 'found my purpose' or anything, but I subconsciously decided then that I was stupid for having decided to trust two people I didn't know. I stopped trusting my judgment, so I stopped trusting everyone else.

Up until that point in my life, I more readily trusted women than men, which, I think, has been evident. Now, though, I refroze my heart which had started to melt a bit, and didn't trust anyone; not women, not men, not myself. I might have trusted children, have the opportunity arose, but I didn't want to get close to children physically or emotionally ever again. _Which, at the rate I'm going,_ I thought to myself, _that won't be too hard._

I went to Gilbert, Arizona, which is roughly a 22 hour drive from Sioux Falls. I was so raging mad that I didn't stop to sleep. I know I stopped once or twice to refill the gas tank, and I think I may have gotten something to eat at one point, but I didn't want to stop for something as trivial as sleep. I wanted to get away from John Winchester and his _precious_ boys.

In hindsight, I get why John would rather use me as bait than one of his sons. He didn't know me, didn't love me, hadn't spent his entire life protecting me. And I was an orphan. It wasn't like anyone would miss me if I died.

Right?


	6. I'm Just Angry In General So Sue Me

Had John and Bobby had called? Surely they would, right? At least Bobby, right? He seemed like the type of person who would call if I suddenly up-and-outed. The answer is: Yes. Yes, they had called. And I had answered only Bobby, at first. Not ready to talk to John. Bobby initially called me about ten hours after I had left. I had gotten my anger under control by then, and was past the sobbing part of my breakdown.

"Hello?" I had asked wearily and warily when I answered.

"Why'd you take off so fast, Eden?" came Bobby's concerned voice, "I saw your note and the packet of information that you left for John – and the money, Eden –"

"Keep it," I cut in, not wanting to have that conversation, "Please. And I heard of some demonic spikes down in Gilbert, Arizona, so I thought…"

"You thought you'd just up and out without sayin' anything to me?" he finished dryly.

My cheeks burned which, thankfully, he wasn't able to see. I answered steadily, "Yeah. Sorry about that. You were on the phone with someone, and I didn't want to bother you. I figured it might have been important."

There was a short silence and Bobby said, "You heard, didn't you."

"No," I said, but the lie was evident in my voice, even to myself.

Bobby sighed, "Eden, how much did you hear?"

"Enough," was my vague reply.

" _Eden_ ," he said, an undercurrent of vexation in his voice.

" _Fine_ ," I replied in the same tone, "I heard John wants to use me as a decoy to lure Azazel out. But that will never work."

Bobby was silent. He asked a minute later, "Why not?"

"Because," I disgustedly answered, "The day I crossed paths with John, a demon had found me and told me Azazel didn't want me getting hurt, so I was supposed to lay low. So obviously he doesn't want to kill me." Bobby was silent some more. _Men._ "What?" I asked, nettled.

"Azazel had a demon tell you to lay low and stay _safe?_ " he repeated incredulously.

" _Yes,_ Bobby, that's what I just said," I replied exasperated, " _Azazel wants to keep me safe._ "

"Oh," Bobby said.

"Yeah," I said slightly sarcastic, "Oh."

Bobby talked with me a bit more, asking me what I planned on doing after I took care of the 'demons' in Arizona, and I told him pretty much what I had said to John a few days before; just drive aimlessly around the country, looking for things to fight. He said if I ever found myself needing a place to stay, I was welcome to drive to Sioux Falls and crash at his place. I thanked him and after saying goodbye, hung up.

John was another story. I ignored his calls for a good three weeks or so. First, because I didn't know how he got my number. I did find out, however, after a week or so – I got Bobby to confess that he had given my cell number to John. When I asked him why in the world he did that, he said it was because John was _concerned_ about me. _Mhmm._ The man who wanted to force-feed me to Azazel was _concerned_ about me. Nice.

I finally did talk to him, and um, it wasn't a very good conversation. It started off nice and pleasant but then… I um, called him out and he told me that I was right. That valued his sons over me. I had laughed and spat that I understood. I really did. But did that mean he had the right to throw me into the fire, all for the sake of keeping his sons safe and warm?

"Eden," he had sighed, "I don't want to kill you."

"But you're hoping Azazel will, so you can kill him," I had pointedly retorted.

"Eden?" I heard a voice in the background. Sam. Great. I didn't know a lot about teenage guys, save for Shane, who was possessed half the time I talked to him, and Sam, who seemed to find me strangely fascinating. I knew enough, though, that I did not want to talk to Sam again. Not because he was snotty or stuck up and disrespectful but because he was _too_ nice. He was too interested in me for me to be comfortable.

"Dad, is that Eden Parker?" He asked.

John and I simultaneously sighed. John said, "Yes, Sam. It's Eden."

"Well ask her what the hell she was thinking when she just _left_ ," came Dean's sardonic voice from the background. John didn't ask me that. Instead he said,

"I'm sorry, Eden. I really am. I didn't mean for you to find out."

"Find out what? Dad?" Sam asked worriedly.

"Of course you didn't want me finding out," I said coldly, "Because you knew this exact conversation would happen. And if you had just _told_ me in the first place, I would have been able to tell that your plan would never, and will never work, despite whether I would be willing or no."

"What?" was John's response. I explained to him about my meeting Shane, and how he found me the next day, but he was possessed. I told him Shane's message to me, how Azazel did not wish for my death, so trying to get me out in the open for him would do no good. Azazel didn't want me hurt; by him or anyone. John stayed silent a minute. "Oh," he finally said.

"Yeah," I muttered, "That's what everyone else says." I raised my voice slightly, "You know I would have been okay with it."

"What?" John asked again.

"Being a decoy," I said, "I would have been okay with it."

Now where had _that_ come from? No, I wouldn't have. I was furious about John using me as… _Oh._ I was just furious that he tried to use me without telling me.

I realized something, then.

I didn't care if I lived or died.

I just cared about dying in a way that I deemed appropriate.


	7. I Become Friends With an Alien Sorta

I spent the next three months or so back on the hunter bandwagon. Killing things, being angry, lonely, you know. Then the beginning of July 2008 rolled around, and I found a shapeshifter in Baltimore, Maryland.

Whoa, there, did I just jump across the country for this shifter? No. I had been making my way east for the past few months for a reason. I'll get to that later. There's your answer.

So I was in Baltimore, chasing this shifter, who had murdered three women in the three days I had been there. I was slightly interested in this shifter, more so than I normally would have been. I had built a device that read electromagnetic fields and the fluctuations of such a few months prior to when I met John, and I had been upgrading it since then, so it gave me more than just 'this organic organism is not human'. Now it gave me 'this organic organism is not of human origin' _and_ what sort of creature it was _and_ the best way to kill it.

Except for this shifter. It would not give me a reading on what creature it was, and thus, it could not give me the best way to kill it. I had compared the electromagnetic field readings to other supernatural beings and it had come closest to a shifter, but not quite. Thus my interest in the 'shapeshifter'. I had tracked the shifter to the District Court of Maryland, and so that's where I decided to head.

I walked down East Fayette Street in the dead of night. It was sort of peaceful. You'd think that after my experiences at night, I'd be scared of the dark. I had been for a while, but once I hit the road when I was seventeen, I wasn't. I can tell you that I was no more scared of the dark than I was the sunlight. You had to have the same amount of caution during all hours of the day, so I did not find any reason to be scared of the dark. I ducked into an alley when I noticed a patrol car driving by. Good for the police. Trying to keep things under control. I waited until the car had pulled round the corner, and then I continued to the District Court building. I read on my tracker that the shifter was three floors up, on the north side of the building. So I went to the south side of the building.

Why? Because I was going to have to break in and I didn't want it to hear me, that's why. I had to scale the wall and break a window. Yes, there were alarms. But I had built a sensor-neutralizer that basically cancelled out any alarms, thus giving me an easy entry. I didn't break the window, either. I cut a hole in it. If I broke it, I'd leave some sort of DNA sample behind, and I didn't want to risk that. So I cut a hole in the window with my knife and silently dropped into the room, glancing around. It was empty, like I had thought it would be. No one would be in a courthouse for fun at one thirty in the morning.

Except for a shifter, apparently.

I cautiously and soundlessly crept to the northern side of the building. I slipped the tracker into a pocket in my jacket. I didn't need it; I could hear the shifter. There was a faint rustling coming from the room just to my left; the jury room. I listened and noiselessly cracked the door, my gun in my right hand, a silver knife in my left. I peered in the room carefully. There was a young woman about my size rifling through some papers, her back to me. _Gotcha._ I opened the door a bit more, wondering if she was going to turn around, but she didn't hear me. I was hesitant a moment, then opened the door all the way, ducking behind the doorframe. I listened, and the sound of shuffling paper didn't stop. Taking a deep breath, I launched myself into the room, on top of the girl. She yelped in surprise and twisted around, knocking me over. She shrieked, "What are you doing?"

I skillfully caught myself halfway down, and used my momentum to give her a solid blow to the stomach. She gasped in pain but was able to strike out, kicking my legs out from under me. I moaned in pain to throw her off – the blow hadn't hurt that bad – and she started to go for me again, but I rolled over and gave her a cut across the back of her calf, making her fall to the ground. I got up shoved her against the wall, holding my knife to her throat. I sneered, "So what costume are you wearing today?"

She squeaked in pain, gasping, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

I rolled my eyes and said, disgusted, "Seriously? We both know what you really are." I pressed the knife a bit firmer against her neck and gave what was apparently a very cold and very scary look.

"No, I really don't!" she choked, "I'm not the Slitheen, and I don't think you are, either."

I gave her a hard look and deadpanned, "The what?"

She responded somewhat desperately, although her tone was laced with ice, "The Slitheen. What you and I are hunting."

I responded sarcastically, "Right." I glanced at her leg, expecting it to be smoking like shifter's skin did when they came in contact with silver. The thing was, her leg was bleeding like a… well... _human_ cut did. I internally swore and roughly let her go, saying, "Well, then I'll let you go, since you're not it." I stood up and started to walk towards the door when she caught my arm and cried questioningly, "Wait! If you thought I was the Slitheen, then why did you use silver? Don't you have vinegar or something with acetic acid? That's the only thing that works."

I paused and wheeled around to look at her, wrenching my wrist out of her grip and harshly asked, "What are you?"

"What do you mean?" came her confused reply, "I'm human. Not quite a hunter, but not working for Torchwood, either. I guess I'm a freelancer."

I repeated, "Torchwood."

"You've never heard of Torchwood?" she scoffed disbelieving.

My reply was formal, but no longer cold – just more on guard than anything else; "Obviously not."

She asked softly, "How can you be hunting aliens and not know about Torchwood?"

I sneere, "I am after a shifter, not a Slitheen, or whatever you called it. I don't know what you have been drinking, but there's no such thing as aliens."

Much to my fury, she rolled her eyes and took on a somewhat condescending tone with me, "Kay, honey, I've been in this business a while. I grew up at Torchwood learning to hunt aliens, and I've spent enough time hunting to know that what you're hunting is no shifter."

"Well, then," I glared at her, "I'll just leave you to your devices, then. You probably don't want a teenager helping you anyways." I spun on my heel and stalked out the door when she called suddenly,

"Wait! I'm a teenager, too, you know. And I'm in over my head here."

I was about to reply, I really was, when this _man_ just appeared out of seemingly nowhere and grabbed me around the neck by his arm, and he dragged me into the room, causing me to choke. As I tried to fight him off, the girl grabbed a bottle of what turned out to be vinegar, and threw it towards the man and me, dousing us both. I was fine besides the fact I was being throttled, but this guy was apparently allergic to vinegar because immediately he grossly started to blister. He unfortunately tightened his hold on my neck. Gasping for breath, I barely managed to grab my knife and stab him in the lower back. He yelled and dropped me to the ground, where I lay retching as I drew my gun and pointed it at him, still gagging. The girl gingerly helped me up and splashed some more vinegar on the man, which forced him into a corner. I coughed and gasped at him, "Who are you? Or… what are you, works, too."

He grinned and the weirdest thing I think I had ever seen happened. He reached up and _unzipped_ his skin. No, not kidding. It was like there was a horizontal zipper across his forehead. And there was this weird glowing blue light that came from the place where he was 'unzipping' his skin, and all at once, the entire _person_ just melted and in its place was this… thing. Way, way more bizarre than I had ever dreamed of, and that was saying something. It was… this creature. Tall, probably over seven feet, with gangly bright green arms and legs. He had a huge stomach and creepy black eyes the size of tennis balls. The girl next to me grimaced and pulled out a high-tech looking gun and she uttered, "Slitheen."

I was surprised and asked, "So you're an extraterrestrial being? You usually live on another planet?"

The thing nodded and tried to move, but the girl splashed him with more vinegar and she told me, "They're from Raxicoricofallipatorious. Acetic acid is their weakness."

I muttered, "Raxicoricofallipatorious. Imagine writing that on an envelope." I cleared my throat and returned to my professional, cool tone, "So now what do we do?"

I could hear the uncertainty in her quiet voice, "I really don't know. I've never fought one before and I don't really have a spaceship. Vats of acetic acid are effective…"

I shot at her quietly, "You don't know how to kill it, and yet you went after it anyways? That's stupid, I'm sorry."

She frowned and sounded defensive, "I was in the area and it was here. I wanted a challenge." The Slitheen heard that and apparently wanted to up the challenge, because he shoved me extremely hard and then attempted to get past the girl, but I used the momentum he had given me from the shove by erecting myself and I shoved him right back with what could be called a surprisingly strong force, causing his head to hit the wall with a loud _crack._ The girl's eyebrows rose and she said, "Wow… that was pretty impressive. Who are you?"

Still watching the Slitheen, who was staring at me with what was a wary expression, I shook my head and replied, "That's not important."

"Well, I'm Erin," she sighed, "What do you say that we set up a motion-detected vinegar shower?"

"And just leave him here?" I asked surprised.

She shook her head, answering, "No. I have some friends that are better enabled to handle this. If we trap it here, they'll come and handle it."

I nodded and said vaguely, "Okay," because I was already pulling out my small bag of miscellaneous technological parts from the inside of my jacket. I set it down on the table and pulled out what most people called a 'breadboard'. After I had stuck a 741 amp in the middle of it, and connected the wires appropriate to power said amp, I pinned a Cd cell in the node that was connected to another pin and so on until I was able to connect a negative battery to the fourth pin of the op amp. I then connected the lead of the LED I was using to the sixth pin on the op amp. Then to the seventh pin I connected the positive battery. Finally, I was able to connect the battery together. After a bit of fiddling, I looked up at the girl who called herself Erin and found her staring at me. I said lightly, " I don't want this to be too motioned-censored, or else every time he moves, he will be doused in vinegar, so maybe we could give him a small space that's about 5x5 for him to move around." I finished assembling the sensor, which looked like a small cube, and I started working on another.

She watched me and then said, "Very nice. I'll call my crew." She pulled out her phone and dialed a number.

Meanwhile, I had finished the second cube and looked at the Slitheen harshly. Imploring, I said, "Please don't give me a reason to hurt you. I imagine that you're in enough pain already. Just stand in that corner." The Slitheen gave me what I imagined to be a glare, but it obliged. I warily but firmly walked up to a space five feet away from him, and tacked a motion-sensor to the walls on either side of him. I pushed a button that was on one of the two sensors, and a green electric field emitted from both of the cubes, creating a floor-to-ceiling box that encased the Slitheen. "There," I said, getting Erin's attention.

She smiled, "I'm impressed." Into the phone she said, "Hey, Jack? Hi… I have a Slitheen trapped in the District Court of Maryland building, in Baltimore. Can you come get it? I'll leave a GPS tracker. Okay. Thank you. Bye." She hung up, her face a mask.

I inquired, "A friend of yours?"

She said quietly, "Former co-worker."

I tilted my head looking at her and asked, "Is he from Torchwood? That place you left?" Looking startled, she nodded, somewhat unhappily.

I observed, "You don't seem too happy that you left."

She leaned against the wall and said, not unkindly, "I'm not sure how I feel about baring my soul to a stranger."

"That's fine," I shrugged, "I don't trust anyone or anything. I understand."

She glanced at me curiously, "Is that why you're so vague?"

"Maybe," I replied with half a smile.

Erin sighed and bit her lip. After a moment she said hesitantly, "Well… I left because I was lied to and misled. But I miss the security of it. Torchwood was my family." I raised an eyebrow, my heart rate rising for reasons unknown.

"So go back," was my reply.

"I can't!" she said, sounded angry, "They lied to me. A lot."

I thought a moment, looking at her curiously. Then I leaned against a wall, too, mimicking her. I said matter-of-factly, "And yet you called them family. You said they made you feel safe. They may have lied to you, and I am not saying that's okay – I don't know your story – but, family, in my experience, is about forgiving and loving despite their mistakes and wrongdoings towards you." I shrugged, "And I think… if they're there for you… perhaps you could give them a second chance."

She looked at the ground and said soft and sad, "They lied to me about what killed my real family."

I felt a small bubble of empathy blossom in my chest and I spoke with what could be called warmth, "I know what it's like when people you trust betray you. I do. It leaves you helpless and lost and very, very angry. It leaves you wondering, ' _how much do I actually know?_ '. And more than anything, it's downright frightening. Which is why you need to try to forgive them. Because you can't let your hate and rage and insecurities bottle up inside of you, because perhaps one day, the pressure will become too much and you'll crack." _Like me,_ I silently added.

Erin was quiet a moment, and for a second I thought I had been too up-front with her, but then she responded, "Thanks. That really helped. But I'm not quite ready to, yet. Maybe someday." I nodded and looked at the floor, staring at the mud on my boots. Erin, meanwhile, glanced warily at the Slitheen and asked, "Should we wait for Jack to get here? I… haven't seen him since I left."

I glanced up at her and shook my head, "You can go if you want. The Slitheen won't be able to get out of his cage without being fried, so I'll be okay." I gave her a small, crooked smile and added, "I always have been before."

She looked at me, long and hard and finally asked, "Why don't you come with me?"

I sighed and slowly shook my head. "I can't. Thank you, but I have to opt out."

She gave me a sad smile. Unexpectedly, she pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket and wrote her number down on it. Handing it off to me, she explained, "If you ever get in trouble."

I blinked at the paper and nodded. I gently folded it and slipped it into my pocket with a "Thanks."

She nodded and held out her hand, "Thank you, too. You saved my ass. I'll be seeing you, I guess."

I hesitantly shook her hand and replied, "Thank you, as well." After a pause, I added, "It's Eden, by the way."

The corner of her mouth quirked up and with a wave, she said, "Nice to meet you Eden. See you around." She turned and jogged out of the room.

I stood stock-still for a good five minutes. During that time, I stared at the empty doorway, pondering, contemplating about the girl I had just met, and about this Jack I was about to meet. That was not making me happy. I finally sank down on the floor, watching the Slitheen, who watched me back. Eventually, I looked away, and down to the floor.

"You didn't want to kill me."

My head shot up, and I stared at him and asked, "What?"

"You didn't want to kill me," was the reply, repeated, "Why?"

I blinked in surprise. I thought about that. Finally, I said, "I think I may be tired of killing. I've seen just about enough death for a lifetime."

The Slitheen didn't say anything after that, much to my relief. I wasn't good at talking, let alone talking to extraterrestrials. _But I had been good at talking._ I talked to that girl, Erin, didn't I? I actually gave her advice that she seemed to maybe have taken to heart. And I had talked to John, Bobby, and those guys, Sam and Dean, hadn't I? _Although,_ I thought glumly, _You know how well your relationship with John turned out._ I sighed.

"Well, I hope that was a sigh of pleasure," came a voice from the doorway. Male. I froze and looked over to the door. A very tall, imposing man stood there, with about three different guns. I swallowed and stood up. The man walked over to me and stuck out his hand and said seductively, "The name's Captain Jack Harkness."

Instead of taking his hand, I asked testily, "Eden Parker. And captain of what?"

He grinned and lowered his hand. Delighted he said, "You're an interesting one. I'm hoping to get to know you better some more in a few minutes." He turned away from me. While I glared at his back, he looked at the Slitheen stilled imprisoned in the 5x5 cage I had made. Jack whistled, "Whoa! And who made this beauty?"

I muttered, "I did."

"Fantastic. Not only beautiful and a fighter, but smart, too! This day is just getting better and better."

I snarled, "Don't press your luck, _Captain Jack Harkness._ I'm only here because Erin didn't want to be."

He paused at that and asked, sounding surprisingly worried and concerned, "Ah, yes. How is she?"

That was _not_ the answer I had been expecting. "Uhm, she's alright, I believe," I replied, "She seemed to be okay... but she looked very tired and worn out."

He nodded, looking worried for a moment, and then looked at the Slitheen again. He glanced back at me and asked, "So can you take this thing off the wall so I can take our friend?"

Standing my ground, I looked at him and said, "One condition."

"What's that?" Jack asked, interested.

"You don't kill him," was my solid reply.

Jack blinked, and so did the Slitheen. "What?" Jack asked, incredulous.

"You don't kill him," I insisted, "Give him a spaceship and send him back to Raxicoricofallipatorious."

Jack thought about that and then said, "Fine. Done."

I glared, "Do I have your word?"

Jack nodded and promised, "You do."

I stalked over to the wall and ripped off one of the censors and the cage died with a crackle. Suddenly, three more people entered the room, two women and one man, and they took the arms. They hustled the Slitheen out and I watched them carefully. Well, I did, until they teleported and disappeared, leaving me with this perverted guy name Jack who looked neither young nor old, which worried me.

I started to clear off the gadgets from the table, and I ripped the other sensor from the wall, and disassembled it, stowing the contents into the bag that I had taken them from. After a moment, I looked up at Jack, and he was regarding me curiously. A little irritated, I asked exasperated, "Yes?"

He leaned up against the wall and asked genially, "So, you have a family, Eden?"

I glared and said firmly, "No. They're dead."

His tone softened a little and he said, "I'm sorry about that."

I glanced at him a moment then I looked down at my feet. I mumbled, "You don't need to be. It's not your fault."

He shifted his weight to his other foot and asked incredulously, "I don't need to be sorry because it's not my _fault?_ Well, sweetheart, that's awful kind of you, but it's called sympathy."

I glared up at him, "Yes, I know; I'm fully aware. I don't _want_ you to be sympathetic, Jack Harkness. I don't need your sympathy, now or ever."

He laughed, "Well, someone's a bit uptight."

I rounded on him, my anger flaring. These people, these _humans_ , thought they knew enough about me to _sympathize_ with me? No. Sympathy came from understanding one's situation. Jack may have know that my family was dead, but that did not mean he knew my situation, and I told him as much. "You can't possibly sympathetic with me, Jack Harkness! You don't know why they're dead, why I am alone. Perhaps I killed them! Perhaps I _wanted_ them to die. Had you ever thought of that? No. You let your _emotions_ cloud your _judgment_ and _logic_. Maybe I _like_ being alone –"

"But you don't," he cut in.

I blinked and stopped ranting. I asked him, angry, "What did you just say?"

He repeated himself; "You don't like being alone. It's pretty obvious, sweetheart."

I crossed my arms and glared at him. I spat, "Enlighten me."

"Well, for one, you're not a serial killer," he responded, "if you were, you would not have mentioned that to me, and you would not have talked about emotions clouding my judgment."

"Really?" I drawled, trying not to sound upset, "What makes you say that?"

"Because only someone who is truly hurting says that. Those who wish they did not have emotions," he said softly.

My voice cracked while tears of frustration clouded my vision, "Well, that's true. I wish I didn't have to feel a damn thing. All it does is tie you down to memories you don't want to remember."

Jack sighed and looked at me sadly, "So what happened?"

I faltered, not having expected him to ask that. I wasn't sure how many people I wanted to tell my life story. I decided I might as well give him the short version, since he asked. And I couldn't think of an excuse to not tell him. I glared and said flatly, "My mother died by a demon's hand when I was six, and my father killed himself in front of me three weeks later. And a young boy that I raised died from cancer last year."

Jack nodded once and his eyes looked like they understood the pain I was going through, although I didn't know how to tell him I recognized that. Instead, I asked hesitantly, "Have you? Got any family, I mean?"

Jack's eyes clouded over and he shrugged, "My brother disappeared a number of years ago. And my mother and father are dead." I nodded, about to say something when he added, "But family doesn't end with blood; I've got friends. A good friend, named Ianto Jones, and many others at Torchwood. They're my family. What about you, Eden Parker? Do you have friends?"

That stopped me. I thought, _do I have friends?_ I didn't think that John counted as one, since he had all but sold me to a demon. I had never met his sons, so that didn't count. Bobby let me stay at his house a few days, but that was because John asked him to. Shane Cassidy was a simple human who was unfortunate enough to come across me, and he would not want me calling him any time soon, or ever. And Erin… I didn't even really know her. She helped me, and I helped her, but did that make us friends? We talked and I gave her some advice, did that make us friends? No. Because friends were people who trusted one another and told each other their worries and insecurities, and I had no one like that.

I looked up to tell Jack, no, I didn't have any friends, but he was gone. Just disappeared, like everyone else. And I was alone. Again.

That was the reality of it; I really didn't have anyone but myself.

And that was the least comforting thought in the world.


	8. Sometimes You Just Gotta Pray in German

I numbly sat in that jury room for hours. I really was alone. It just wouldn't leave my head. That thought. I was alone. I was alone and I couldn't even begin to do something about that.

What brought me back to reality was the rising sun. I had to hurry before they opened up the building. And damn it. That window. On the other side of the building. I sprinted down the darkened hallways, and made it back to the room that I had originally entered through. The circular pane of glass that I had cut out was still lying on the floor. And I decided to just leave it there. So that's what I did, I scaled back down the building, and just in time, too, because almost immediately after I dropped to the ground and started walking like a normal civilian, a patrol car rounded the corner. That was so cute. Patrolling the same block for suspicious people when they should have been patrolling the inside of the buildings. Oh, well.

I walked back to my truck, which was parked on the north side of the War Memorial Plaza, feeling tired. I mean, I did have good reason. I had just stayed up all night fighting and capturing and vouching for an alien, and then I was indirectly reminded by a captain-of-something that I didn't have any friends. Tiring stuff. I got into my truck, which was parked in the shade, and fell asleep, right there, at 5:50 in the morning.

I woke a few hours later, and blinked, disoriented. The sun was fully up, and I happened to notice a church just across the street from me.

I looked in my rearview mirror and sighed somewhat in relief. I looked fine. I ran my hands through my shoulder-length hair. It was soft and brown, and I hadn't cut it since Danny had died. When he first had lost all his hair, I had shaved my head, which he thought was funny. I kept it shaved until he died, but after that, I let it grow out, but kept it in a pixie cut for a while. Since then, though, I didn't care what I looked like, and just had let my hair grow. I took out my gadget back from my jacket. It was pleasantly cool outside – lower 70s, I thought – so I kept my jacket on. I stuck my hunting knife down my boot, and tucked a gun into my jeans. I was going to go into a church on a Tuesday, so it should have been empty, but I couldn't be too careful.

I walked across the street and saw with surprise and some gratitude that it was a Lutheran church. I didn't know what branch of Lutheran church it was, but I didn't think God would care what denomination of Lutheran church I confessed in.

I was hesitant. I didn't really get to go to church anymore- I was usually busy hunting and killing, but I still prayed. And I still wore the necklace with the crucifix that my mother had given me. And I still believed, despite everything, which I think said something. I wasn't sure what, but I think it said something about me.

I nervously pulled on the door to the church, wondering if it would be open. It was. Sighing in relief, I walked inside, and smelled the scent that was unique to churches; wood and a slight hint of incense, and forgiveness.

No, I didn't think forgiveness smelled like anything, either. But right then I realized that it did. And it still does.

I walked down the aisle of the sanctuary. I was alone, physically, at least. But there was that pressing of God upon my back, but it wasn't a burden. It was more of a light touch, a reassuring, I am here. I knelt right there, in the aisle, very near to the altar, relaxing for the first time in months. I closed my eyes, clasped my hands together, and rested my head against them, mumbling the Lord's Prayer in German, as I learned when I was younger. You're German, princess, my Dad had explained to me, you should learn this prayer in all languages. Especially German.

Quietly, I prayed, Unser Vater in dem Himmel! Our Father, who art in heaven… I hadn't spoken German for a long time, and it felt so familiar, so comforting …Dein Name werde geheiliget. Hallowed be Thy name… Who was I, to come into a church and hope that God would listen to me, one of the most poor, sinful beings on the earth? …Dein Reich komme. Thy kingdom come…Oh, please, Lord let me come to your kingdom …Dein Wille geschehe auf. Thy will be done… I prayed every day that God's will was being done, for who else would have set me on this path that seemed full of darkness? Only He, because of His mercies and grace, was giving me a life that I could appreciate, a family I could remember lovingly. …Erden wie im Himmel. On Earth as it is in Heaven… I hoped heaven would be nicer. That's not what that meant, though. God wanted His will done on Earth as well and obediently as it was done in Heaven – but could I do that? …Unser täglich Brot gib uns heute. Give us this day our daily bread…What was my daily bread? My praying? …Und vergib uns unsere Schulden. And forgive us our trespasses… Oh, God, I had committed so many. And was still. I lied to everyone, to myself, about who I was. Danny never knew my real name… never knew I was his mother… wie wir unsern Schuldigern vergeben. As we forgive those who trespass against us… John. I needed to forgive John. John, I understand you were trying to protect your children, avenge your wife. And I think I can forgive you for that. I can. I forgive you. …Und führe uns nicht in Versuchung. And lead us not into temptation… I was so tempted. So tempted to end it all. But I couldn't. Not then. Not in a church. I would trust in God. I had to …sondern erlöse uns von dem Übel. But deliver us from evil… Had I been delivered from evil? Or was there greater evil I had yet to be delivered from? …Denn dein ist das Reich und die Kraft und die Herrlichkeit in Ewigkeit. For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever and ever… I was so tired, Lord, so tired. Please, just… Amen.

Amen.

When I opened my eyes, I realized that I was crying. I also realized that there was a pastor there, just apart from me, standing in front of the pews, two rows in front of where I was. I raised my face to meet his and his face was full of what I could only call love. And it wasn't a kind of love that made me uncomfortable, as shy and introverted and terrified of love as I was. It was the kind of love that said, Hello, sister in Christ. I have seen your pain and so has He. He walked up to me, and held out a hand. I took it, and when I stood, I wiped my eyes, tears still trickling down my face. He asked gently, "Mein geehrte Schwester , welches ist störend Sie?"

My dear sister, what is troubling you?

Had he heard my praying? Was I sobbing aloud? I choked back, "Er tut mir leid sich aufdrängen. Ich benötigt zu beten. I am sorry to intrude. I wanted to pray. I… thought… a church…" I broke back down and the pastor gently sat me down on a pew and said kindly in English, "Of course. You don't need to apologize for wanting to pray. But God hears you everywhere, not just in here."

I wiped my eyes yet again and nodded. I hiccupped, " I understand. I just… was passing through… and… the church was here…" I choked on my sobs and the pastor nodded like he understood.

He asked, "Is there anything I can do for you? My name is Pastor Eric Gritsch."

I was silent a moment and then stated truthfully for the first time in almost ten years, "My name is Sara Müller."

He smiled slightly, "Müller. German. Are you a Lutheran, then?"

I gulped and nodded, "Yes, my parents raised me as such, and I still remain one today."

He nodded and told me, "It's good you have chosen to remain in the faith. Are you here with family?"

I shook my head and somehow I started telling him everything. It poured out of me like a waterfall and I couldn't stop. I told him everything except about the hunting. I told him my mother was killed in a house fire when I was just six, and that dad had shot himself six weeks later- in the head with a gun. Just in front of me. And how I went to my grandparents', who were kind enough, but I thought that they resented me because I looked so much like their dead daughter. And then how they both died by the time I was ten. How I lived on the streets. That I was raped. I told him about my wonderful son, my wonderful boy, who died in a horrible way. And that I had just run into a man who had helped me out many years ago, only to find him trying to use me. How I had lied to everyone I had met in recent years as to who I was because I was frightened. And how I wasn't sure if I could ever forgive myself. And most of all, most importantly, how alone I felt.

At last, I glanced up, my throat dry and my eyes wet, my hands clenched into fists. I looked a man in the eye for the first time since my father had died, and I desperately searched this man's eyes, this pastor, for a glimmer of light. And I found one. He gently said something that was quite profound and made my heart swell with sadness and joy and love and pain, but most of all, faith,

"Serpentine reason and dove-like faith go together; indeed they are the equipment we need most on our earthly journey. We should take evil seriously, but do so with faith, diligence, passion, and, indeed, 'with a gallows humor'. Our Christian life is one of joyful freedom and doxological joy, uplifted and equipped for service and survival in this world by education and life-long learning. You are not alone, Sarah, and you never have been. The times where it has seemed that you have walked alone, the times you have only seen one set of footprints in the sand, are the times that God has carried you."

Well, that was something; something that would forever be engrained into my mind.

I wish it had been enough.


	9. It's an Angel What the Flip

Nothing else exciting happened the rest of the summer. I mean, sure there were demons that I killed, I also killed an actual shifter, not a Slitheen, or whatever. I started to do some research on aliens for the first week after I met Erin, but I wasn't all that interested, so I didn't bother to look that hard. Actually, I was sort just uninterested in everything. I killed demons, sure, but I didn't jump with my usual vigor. I didn't get sloppy, exactly, but I got less careful. I didn't make game plans; I just jumped into danger without thinking, which was seriously unlike me. I had stopped using my high-tech gadgets, reverting back to my early days of what I considered self-defense; a gun, a bottle of holy water, a silver knife, and multiple memorized exorcisms.

I also had lost interested in the books Bobby had given me. I think I had depression. That talk I'd had with Pastor Gritsch had given me a burst of new-found energy for about two weeks. _I wasn't alone. God was with me._ And He still was, I knew, but I was lonely; physically lonely. Just to have someone be near me; someone I could trust with my hopes and fears, someone I could physically hold hands with. Someone to hug when I needed one. But I didn't have that, and I pessimistically figured I never would.

So July passed. Then August. I started my September in Dell Rapids, South Dakota. I had rented a hotel room at a place called the Bilmar Inn & Suites. It was cozy and homey. There was lots of wood, which reminded me a bit of Bobby's, which I found strangely comforting.

September 12th of that year, 2008, was my 19th birthday. And I spent it in a hotel room, lying on the bed, looking at the ceiling. I had woken up at noon that day, which should have worried me, but it didn't. I was waking up later and later every day, and I was going to bed earlier and earlier. I was eating less, sleeping more, and allowing myself to get hurt in a fight. The sight of my own blood fascinated me. Two days later, I decided;

Maybe it was time to spill my own.

I sort of had contemplated suicide before, but not seriously. Honestly, before then, I wasn't sure how people _could_ kill themselves. Life was so fragile. I knew that first hand; my mom, my dad, my son… and I was only nineteen. Life was funny, and I don't mean in the amusing kind of way. I frowned and sat on the bed. Weren't you supposed to leave a note for your loved ones? _Yeah, well, it's not like it matters,_ I thought sadly, _All of my loved ones are dead._ Something struck me, just then. My truck. Who would take that? I couldn't just leave it there, with all my supplies and books and…

 _Books._ Bobby. I flipped open my cell and punched in Bobby's number. I took a few deep breaths while his phone was ringing. He didn't pick up. Instead I heard, "This is Bobby Singer's direct hotline. You should not have this number."

I sighed and closed my eyes. _Just leave a message._

"Hello, Bobby," I said. I was hesitant, but soon the words started to flow easily. This was the last conversation I was ever going to have, and no one was even there to hear me. Nothing to be nervous about. I sounded surprisingly loose when I continued, "It's Eden Parker. You said to call if I ever need a place to crash or needed a favor? Well, my truck broke down. Would you be able to come look at it? I'm in Dell Rapids, just about half an hour north of your place? Camped out at a place called Bilmar Inn & Suites. I'm fine here for a few days; there's nothing in town that's dangerous, but I may be able to find something…" I paused, not sure what else to say. I thought a moment, then said in the most heartfelt voice I could muster, "Thanks so much."

I hung up, only to find that I was breathily unevenly. I really, actually, did not want to die. But I had to. How could I live with myself when everyone I loved had died because of me? I had so much death, so many lives that weighed me down and there were only so many more I could take before I would break. Although, I think I had been broken, long ago, so my time was long overdue. I sighed and stood up.

My only thought, then, was about Danny. _Shine for me,_ I had told him. I walked over to the window and drew back the curtain, looking up at the night sky. The stars were sparkling amidst the inky black expanse that was the heavens. Danny loved the stars. He once asked me if they were angels. I told him I didn't know, but maybe one day he and I could go find out, together, and he had agreed with me. " _I like that, DenDen,"_ he had agreed excitedly, " _let's go see the stars together._ " DenDen? Oh, that was what he called me… He didn't know I was his mom. He thought I was his sister, and he couldn't quite say my name when he was first learning how to talk, so he just called me 'DenDen'. Which… was fine? Is fine. I guess.

But that really wasn't fine. Looking up at the stars, my breathing became ragged and tears welled up in my eyes. He had never known I was his mom. That, I think was what solidified my decision. I knew that I probably would go to hell for killing myself, and I'd never get to see Danny again, but…

DenDen and Danny Parker. I guess, in a way, I _was_ Eden Parker when I was being Danny's mom and sister. His birth certificate says 'Daniel Elijah Parker' on it, so he was a Parker at least. My little Spiderman. I smiled softly, despite my tears. He was a wonderful boy. He could have done so many things. So much more than I could. I rubbed the tears from my face, and kissed my hand. Gently, I blew my love for Danny to the stars.

"Bye, darling," I whispered. After a moment, I drew the curtains shut. Turning around, I paused. Would God listen to me? Even though I was going to go through with it, no matter what? I cautiously knelt down on the ground, and folded my hands. I bit my lip and laughed at myself quietly.

"Well, Lord, I'm here," I sighed, "I, um, want to say thanks, I guess. That's not meant to be sarcastic… but You know that. I am thankful that you gave me the parents I had, and that I had a few years with my son, but… Why did You have to have them taken away from me? Why did I have to go through all that pain? There were so many times where I was _so close_ to finally being happy, and then everyone was ripped away from me," I paused, struggling. When I continued my voice was much more desperate, "Why would You do that? Why would You build up my hope like that, only to have me come crashing down? How could you let this happen?" I cried, "How could you let all this shit happen to me – how can you leave me here all alone? What have I done that is so wrong in your eyes that I can't even have a single friend? I refuse to believe I am supposed to be alone! No one is supposed to be alone, damn You! I've climbed _every fucking mountain_ that You've given me! And every _damn_ time, there's a fucking cliff that was just out of sight and I've always come crashing faster and harder than the cliff before!" Brimming with anger and fury I yelled, "Well, I don't have to worry about the mountains or the climb or the cliffs and the fall anymore! I don't care – did you hear me, Oh _Lord Almighty?_ I don't give a _damn_ about Your plans for me! Isn't there something that goes, 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger'? Well, You should have realized that if something didn't kill me, I'd kill myself!"

Screaming with fury, I whipped my hunting knife out and in two, fluid motions, I violently slashed both of my arms deeply from wrist to elbow. Blood poured from my arms, and I clumsily dropped the knife, gasping, and I fell to my knees. The sudden loss of blood left me dizzy and hazy-eyed. I tried to stand up, but I was so unstable that I lost my balance and crashed to the floor. I could feel the warmth of my blood pooling around me, soaking into the carpet of the floor, my clothes, my hair. Spots started to invade my vision, and I breathed a sigh of relief and closed my eyes.

It was over.

Buzzing. Weird, weird buzzing. I tried to identify what it was. After a moment, I was able to. My ears were ringing. I slowly opened my eyes. I was still in the hotel room, but I was on the bed. I could feel the comforter beneath me, scratchy in the way that only hotel bedspreads are. Sitting up blearily, I glanced around the room and nearly fell off the bed. There was a man sitting on a chair in the corner, looking at me solemnly. He was dressed somewhat funnily; he had a nice suit on, but his clothes were stained with blood, and his tie was on backwards. And he had a really dirty trench coat on. And he had wings. No joke. They were just like angel wings, too. Big, feathery. There was one thing strange about them, though. His feathers… they were shiny, but sort of a gray-black, like soot. But just as soon as I saw his wings, they disappeared, like a mirage. I had an idea as to who he might be. Before I could ask, however, he uttered, "You cannot die." His voice surprised me. It was very low and gravelly, almost too low.

"It's my life," I scathingly replied, "And I don't want it."

"Life," He said slowly, "Is a gift from God, the Father. It should be treasured."

I spat, "Well, apparently God got my 'gift' off the clearance rack, because it sucks."

"Uhm," he said, tilting his head in confusion.

I rolled my eyes and asked, "Are you Samael?"

"What?" The man asked.

"Samael," I repeated, "Angel of death. Prince of the Air."

The man blinked and shook his head. He paused then said gratingly, "My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord."

I blinked and said in surprise, "You're kidding."

Looking uncertain, Castiel replied, "Um, no."

"So where am I going?" I asked, after a pause.

The angel Castiel looked at me funny and responded, "I do not know. That is your decision.

I narrowed my eyes at him and asked, "So is this one of those things where I 'relive my memories'?"

He blinked, "Um –"

I overrode him, "Oh, or I see my life rewind and get to experience all the painful moments in my life again?" He started to say something, but I barreled on, "Or you've come to tell me that since I committed suicide I can't be allowed entry to heaven?" Looking confused, Castiel tried to say something, but I took no notice as a new idea struck me, " _Oh,_ am I a ghost? Is that it? I'm a spirit because of my angry death?" I laughed bitterly, "Well that's interesting. And really ironic, because the reason I killed myself was to get _off_ the earth. I don't want to be stuck here!" I crossed my arms and glared at Castiel. The look on his face made him look a bit like an over-grown child in a dirty trench coat.

At last he said, "You are not dead, Sara Müller."

Castiel using my real name jolted me into action. I sprung up off the bed and shrieked, " _What?_ "

I looked at my arms. "Oh, my God," was all I could managed. My arms were fine; they weren't cut up or bleeding. They were covered in dried blood, sure, but instead of cuts, there were two, very long, very thin scars on my arms that stood out white against my skin. I glanced around. There was blood pretty much everywhere. It was a little unnerving. When I had cut my arms, blood had spurted everywhere; the lam, the curtains, the walls. Not to mention the red carpet which was a pleasant crème color, originally. I could feel my blood-encrusted hair sticking to my clothes and my forehead, I turned my attention back to Castiel. "Okay, explain," I demanded.

"Explain what?" he asked confusedly.

Impatient, I stressed, "Maybe, oh, _why I'm not dead_?"

A light lit in his eyes and he stated, "Because your purpose on this earth has not been fulfilled."

"Oh," I laughed derisively, "Of course! Why did I ask in the first place?" I threw my hands in the air, "I cannot believe I tried to kill myself. _My purpose hasn't been fulfilled."_ I curled my hands into fists and lowered them to my waist, and I stared at Castiel through slit eyes and spat, "So what's my purpose, angel boy?"

"I... cannot tell you that," Castiel faltered.

"Oh, nice," I fumed, "I don't want to be alive anymore, and so some freaking angel brings me back from the dead and he _can't tell me why._ Real nice."

"I did tell- " Castiel started, but I cut him off.

"You just said my stupid _purpose_ hasn't been fulfilled. That's not even an answer." Castiel was silent a moment. When he spoke, he said something so unexpected I laughed, except he was being serious.

"Someone needs you to take care of them."

"Oh," I said, crossing my arms and fuming mad, "Is that so? Well, maybe you think so, Castiel, but let me tell you; _no one_ needs me, _no one_ cares about me, I am _useless_! Why do think I tried to kill myself in the first place? I have no use, angel!" I pleaded, "Please, just let me die!"

To my fury, Castiel shook his head and stated calmly, "No. The one for who you were created or needs your guidance and caring hand."

"What, my _soul mate_?" I asked sarcastically. Castiel said nothing, just stared at me, and my mouth opened in surprise. I spluttered, "You're not – you're not serious? My freaking _soul mate_? Do I even deserve one of those?"

"It is not a matter of whether you deserve a soul mate or not," Castiel solemnly explained, "Your soul mate is your counterpart; the one you were created for, just as he was created for you."

"Great," I muttered under my breath, "A guy."

I think Castiel heard me, because he looked puzzled, "Do you prefer women over men?"

I blushed, "Men just scare me." I bit my lip, realizing what I had just said.

Castiel nodded and said seriously, "I understand. You have been through much."

Faltering, I sat down on the bed and asked warily, "How do you know what I've been through?"

"I," Castiel said, "am your appointed guardian angel. When you need me, I will be here."

I frowned at him slightly, "My guardian angel?"

He nodded and I asked in a somewhat restrained voice, "Why haven't I seen you before?"

"Because you were never in true danger. I am here to keep you alive. I have helped you before."

I frowned deeply, thinking. A thought seeped into my mind and I asked slowly, "2007… I tried to take out a town of demons. One of them said I was being watched over… and then… there was a light later, and… that was you?"

Castiel nodded and supplied, "Yes, the white light was me. I sent the demons back to where they came from."

"Why?"

He blinked at me, like the reason should have been obvious. His answer was a simple, "Because you would have otherwise died."

"Oh," I managed. A thought took me and I blurted, "When I was in Sioux Falls, there was a piercing noise that broke the windows. Was that you, too?"

Nodding once, Castiel breathed in deeply and released, "Yes. I was… trying to communicate with you. However… not all humans are tuned into…"

"Angel radio?" I offered.

"Yes," he nodded, "angel radio. I thought you might be because…" Castiel trailed off, looking at the ground.

"Because why?" I asked suspiciously.

Castiel hesitated and answered, "That's not important."

"Sure, it is," I argued, "Why did you think I could hear?"

Somewhat unwillingly, Castiel said, "Because your father could. He was the one who asked me to watch over you."

"God asked you to watch over me?" I asked, misinterpreting him.

"No," Castiel shook his head, "Not your Heavenly Father. _Your_ father, your earthly father."

I blinked and rubbed my face. After a moment, I asked, "So he asked you to watch over me before he killed himself."

"Yes," Castiel said, but only after a moment's' hesitation. There was silence for a moment. Finally, a thought occurred to me;

"How do I know this guy and I are soul mates? And do I get to know his name?"

"No, I cannot tell you his name," Castiel said, "But if you truly want to know how I know he is your soul mate, I can tell you that."

I nodded, "Okay. Shoot."

"Shoot what?" he asked confused.

I closed my eyes briefly; he wasn't very socially… apt. He really was like a child; it was almost… endearing. "I didn't mean that you should shoot an object," I said almost warmly, "I meant that you should tell me how you know my soul mate is actually _my_ soul mate."

"Oh," Castiel said, "I see." He paused, "I know that this man is your soul mate because he has the same color aura as you."

I frowned, confused. "What?"

"Your aura," Castiel explained, "It is an energy. The energy that lights each human soul. Every soul is a different color; a different shade. Except for soul mates. The color of their souls match."

"I see," I said after a moment, "And what colors do my soul mate and I share?"

Castiel stated, "It is a deep red, although souls are more intricately colored than that. No soul is just one color."

I thought about that and mused, "So a majority of our souls are this red color but his may have… blue in it where mine has green?"

"Yes," he said. I waited for him to add something but he didn't.

Curious, I pressed, "Tell me more. Please."

Looking slightly uncomfortable, Castiel reported, "The majority of a soul's color is the color is that you share with your soul mate. The next largest color is the color that is specific to your own soul. And there are other colors that mix and twist into these two main colors."

I nodded then asked, "So, what does my soul look like? Do the colors mean anything?" I really did want to know. I figured it would be black, considering my past.

Castiel nodded, "Yes, the colors are what make up the values and morals of the soul. Your soul, in particular, is green. It's…" he thought for a while and I waited in expectation, "It's the color of the sea. The green shows that you mainly rely on growth and balance; you like to learn from your experiences here on earth, and you take these lessons to heart."

"That's cute," I mumbled. Castiel continued,

"The other main color of your soul is this deep red that you share with your soul mate; a color that belongs to those who are grounded in their self-image, realistic in their outlook on life, have a strong will-power, and are survival oriented." I nodded. That sounded like me. I saw the world as it was; harsh. Castiel wasn't done, apparently, because he kept talking;

"Your soul is… swirled with a deep indigo, a color that implicates intuition, sensitivity, and the ability to empathize easily with others." Now _that_ surprised me. The intuition, I could understand, I could sense demons and stuff, right? But sensitivity and empathy? That didn't sound like me at all. I was about to ask, but Castiel answered before I could finish.

"However, the indigo of your soul is being eaten away by a dark gray; the color of fear. Fear is taking over your kindness and caring, and if you meet your soulmate, then he can help you break away from the fear."

I absorbed that then asked quietly, "You said I needed to help him. What does he need help with?"

"He is…" Castiel started then paused. He frowned a bit and said finally, "He is headed down a dangerous path. And only will you be able to help him."

"That's great," I replied sarcastically, "Considering I can barely be in the same room with a guy without having a panic attack."

I think Castiel was trying to be helpful when he countered, "You are in the same room as me."

"I know," I said patiently, "But you're an angel. You're a gender non-specific, celestial being. You're not male or female."

"That is true," he admitted. I sighed and put my head in my hands. You're back from the dead for twenty minutes and you find out that angels are real, your father prayed to one to protect you, and that you have a soul mate. That was a lot. I looked up at Castiel and asked hesitantly, "Would… would you be able to draw it for me?"

"Draw what?" Castiel asked.

"My… my soul," I replied somewhat nervously, "I was just wondering what it looks like, and…" I trailed off.

"I believe so," Castiel replied.

I smiled, "Thank you." I hopped off the bed and went over to my duffel bag, pulling out a drawing pad and a pack of colored pencils. Drawing was my guilty pleasure.

I hesitantly handed them to Castiel and he accepted them without comment. He looked at the colors that I had, and drew out a number of them; reds, grays, blues, greens, purples. Setting aside the box of pencils, he stared intently at the paper, and picked up a red pencil and began to draw deftly. I watched him for a long time, quite intently, interested. As he drew, I caught my breath. There was something that happened as he drew. The white paper darkened to a pure black, and the colors he sketched across the paper seemed to glow brighter than picture I had ever seen. The loops and lines he drew seemed to take on a life of their own. Finally he finished, pushing the picture towards me. I soaked it in. _That was my soul._ I looked at it for a long time, feeling like something was wrong. Finally, I figured out what it was. I asked Castiel, "Why is there so much empty space in the middle?"

Castiel sighed and said, "Because your soul is breaking."

"Oh," was all I could say. There was a silence for a time, where I continued to stare at the depiction of my soul, mesmerized. Half-heartedly, I ventured, "Will it ever… be fixed?"

Castiel thought about that. At last, he answered, "Yes. But only –"

"By my soul mate," I finished.

"No," Castiel said.

"Then by who?" I asked, slightly irritated by his lack of explanation.

"I think you know," was all he said.

I closed my eyes frustrated, thinking. Who could fix my soul? I mentally ran through a list of all the people I had ever spoken to. Not Mom, not Dad, not Danny, not my grandparents; they were all gone. Shane? No. John? Not likely. Clara was a vampire; that would be laugh. Andrew used to be one, too, but he was dead; John killed him. I wracked my brain. Sam or Dean? I inwardly shuddered. I did not want my soul fixed by someone who seemed far too interested in me, or a boy who sweet-talked when he hadn't even met me. Bobby? Um, no. The list went on and on and finally the answered occurred to me.

"It's me," I said, opening my eyes, "I have to be the one to fix my soul."

But Castiel was gone.


	10. Who the Hell Names Themself Chartruese

I wasn't initially all that pleased when I realized that Castiel had just left me with my life, without telling me where my soul mate was or who it was. Basically all he had said was that I had a soul mate and that really wasn't all that helpful. But the drawing he had made was nice. I carefully closed the sketch pad and placed it into my duffel bag, along with the colored pencils. The only thing I had to do next was… find my soul mate.

Great. Like that was going to be easy.

Long story short, I spent the next year driving around. I spent a lot of the time on the West Coast, for whatever reason. There were a lot of supernatural spikes over there for a while, so I stuck around. After talking with Castiel, I realized that I needed to change a little bit. Or a lot. If I was going to stay alive until I met my freaking soul mate then I supposed that I should start trying to act a bit less hostile to random civilians. I also decided that I couldn't isolate myself from other people. I mean, I decided that, but I didn't do anything about anything. I just was my normal self. Or whatever you could describe me as; I was far from anything remotely close to 'normal'.

Skip ahead to the 20th of September, 2009. I had just turned 20 eight days prior, and I was itching for something to kill. I had pretty much cleared out the section of the West Coast that I was in of anything nasty. I had spent a few days, wracking my brain for ideas; places I could go, what I should hunt next, when it struck me. Clara. What about Clara? She was probably still alive. When the thought first struck me, I was uncertain. She had taken me in and treated me like a daughter, which was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me. But I couldn't just leave her, either. She was bloodthirsty. I knew that firsthand.

I remember how I learned that she and Andrew were vampires. It was the bloodiest thing I had witnessed up until that point. Yes, of course seeing my father shoot himself in the head was traumatizing and awful. There was blood everywhere, including on me. And to be covered in your father's blood is not something you forget. But neither was accidentally seeing Clara and Andrew rip out the throat of a man. I had gotten up late one night to get a drink of water, when I heard a faint scuffling from the drawing room, and I went to go investigate. So I gently cracked open the door to the drawing room and peeked in. What I saw made my blood run cold. Andrew had a man, who was probably no older than twenty, pinned to the ground. The man was gruesomely cut up and bleeding profusely. He seemed beyond words, and was whimpering in pain. At first, I didn't comprehend what I was seeing. I thought maybe Clara and Andrew had found him like that and they were helping him, but what happened next told me a different story. Somewhat to my fascination, and largely to my horror, I saw Andrew snarl at the man, and fangs sprouted from his mouth. The man whimpered louder and Andrew sank his fangs into the man's neck. The man screamed, and Andrew… ripped out his throat. There was blood spewing everywhere. The man on the floor was still alive, and there was blood just pulsing out of this poor man's neck. He made an awful gagging, choking noise for a few moments. Then he shuddered and died. Horrified, I flew back to the room Clara and Andrew had given me, and that was when I knew that I had to get away. I had read in my mom's journal how terrible vampires were. And now I had seen it personally.

So, ultimately, I figured I should kill her. And that's what I decided to do. I packed up my trunk, and drove a total of 45 hours to get to New York City. I left on the 27th of September and arrived mid-morning on the first of October. I was bone-tired, so I decided to park a few miles away from where the nest was, just to be safe, and I crashed for a good ten hours or so.

When I woke up that evening, I hesitated to try and go find Clara in the dark, because I knew she'd probably out hunting. Or having sex with some vampire. She was very… alluring to other men and it was sort of really disturbing. She was not your 'stereotypical vampire'; not dark and brooding. She was blonde-haired and blue-eyed; small and pretty. But she was freaking fast. I figured I was probably the same size as her, now that I was done growing – I was 5'6" – and figured I had a good chance at taking her on. The worst that could happen to me would be that I would turn into a vampire.

Which was pretty bad.

So, like the reckless person I was, I jumped into action. I filled a number of syringes with dead man's blood – no, not telling you where I got it – and strapped on my weapons. I threw my mom's old hunting jacket on and was ready, save for one thing. My hair had gotten rather long in the past year, hitting the bottom of my shoulder blades, so I had started wearing it tucked up in a baseball cap. It was stupid, but I was not as much of a target that way. With my loose(r) jeans, leather jacket, and baseball cap, I sort of looked like a guy in the dark. Well, kind of. I had sort of, um, grown a lot since I was brought back from the dead. I was still the same height, but, well… I was a woman and so the disguise didn't work during the day anymore. But it worked well enough at night for me to pass as a guy if I wanted to, as long as I stayed out of people's way, which I was good at. I slowly walked for a while, casually looking up and down alleys, looking for suspicious people. It grew dark and I grew guarded.

I continued to cautiously make my way closer and closer to Clara's nest, wary and alert to my surroundings. After a time, I heard the crash of a bin in an alley ahead. I picked up my pace to a run, and whipped past multiple alleys. I continued to run for a few moments until I suddenly skittered to a halt. I could have sworn… I glanced around, and seeing no one, I made my way into an empty alley. Ugh. I hated alleys. Not only were they creepy, but I did not have fond memories of alleys. I pushed down the growing nausea of fear in my stomach and silently pulled out a number on nails from and a hammer from my coat pocket. I quietly started tapping the nails halfway into a brick wall on the side of a building, spacing them about a foot and a half apart horizontally, and alternating them left and right up the wall with about six inches between each nail vertically. After tapping in eight nails, I gently set my right foot on the lowest nail, putting most of my weight on it; it held. Good. I put all of my weight on that lower nail, balancing precariously for a moment until I got my other foot on the next highest nail. Leaning against the brick wall, I tapped in another few nails, and slowly made my way up the wall. After continuing in this slow ascent to the roof for about ten minutes, I finally reached the top of the building. I slung myself over the side, and rolled on to the flat expanse that made up the rooftop. I had to find out if I had seen what I had thought I did.

I stood up silently and deftly ran across the tops of the building. I reached the edge and jumped across the gap below and landed skillfully onto the neighboring roof. I continued in this fashion for a few more minutes, jumping and running. I probably would have felt like I was in a superhero movie, but I hadn't seen any superhero movies then, save the Spidermans, so I didn't know.

In fact, the most recent movie I had watched at that point was Muppet Sing Alongs: It's Not Easy Being Green with Danny three-and-a-half years prior. I had gotten him that movie for his second birthday, and it was his favorite thing in the world, except for this huge book called The Book of Constellations by Robin Kerrod that I bought for him when he was three. He loved that book so much. It had these brilliant pictures of constellations and planets and explained how in ancient times people worshipped the sun and things like that. He thought it was fascinating and we'd read it all the time. We'd either be reading that constellation book, or watching the Muppets Sing Along. Or he was eating pudding. He really, really enjoyed pudding. It didn't really matter what flavor; chocolate, vanilla, butterscotch. Just not strawberry. Once, he had strawberry pudding and he told me it didn't taste like strawberries and that he was upset with it he was never going to be happy again. He forgot about the whole incident five minutes later. But I digress.

After jumping over the fifth building, I stopped running. I crouched down, and crawled across the roof. I grew slower the closer I got to the edge. I couldn't risk her seeing me. As I glanced over the sudden drop that was the side of the building, I couldn't help but smile. There she was. Clara. She looked the same as ever; blonde, dressed in black, looking about 20. I smiled grimly. Assuming I didn't get turned into a vampire, I was going to look older than her soon.

I was about to use my tumbling skills I had developed over the years to drop over the side of the roof into the alley she was in, but I never got the chance. A sudden, unforgiving force hit me and I went careening over the edge of the building with someone holding onto me.

Thank God there was a huge pile of full garbage bags at the bottom of the alley – first and last time I'm hoping I ever say that – or I probably would have cracked my head open. I smacked into the bags full of who-know-what, disoriented. My baseball cap had fallen off sometime during the fall, and my hair was splayed everywhere. As my vision came back into focus, I got a good look at who was pinning me down. It was a vampire. That's not what made me break out into a cold sweat, my blood run cold, or my heart start racing, though. What made me feel sick to my stomach was the fact that the vamp that had me in its iron grip was a man. As soon as my brain had processed that, he laughed. Sneering, he mocked, "Oh, is the poor Hunter afraid of vampires? You're little heart is beating, oh, so fast. The blood is positively pumping through your veins. He grinned deviously and I managed to say in a hard voice,

"You learn not to be scared of vampires when you spend a year living with them."

"What?" came a familiar voice; Clara's. It was usually soft and sweet, or at least, it had always been that way with me. Now her voice snarled, scraping my spine. She pushed the vampire off me and stared down at me, re-pinning me to the ground, although I didn't try to fight her off. I grinned up at her, "Hey, Clara." The vampire male's face paled – if such a thing were possible – and he muttered something about coming back later.

Clara snarled at me, "Eden."

"In the flesh," I agreed.

"What," she spat, "are you doing here?"

"Coming to visit you, Clara," I replied, innocently.

"It's Chartreuse," She growled.

I was confused, "What's chartreuse?"

"My name, you human scum," She sneered, "It's not Clara anymore."

I pushed her off me with a sudden force that surprised us both. She went flying backwards and I sprang up, drawing a syringe and my hunting knife. "That's as stupid name," I observed calmly, infuriating her.

"Well, your stupid father killed my husband!" She shrieked at me, balling her hands into fists.

I stopped up short and asked, confused yet again, "My father?"

"Your precious John Winchester," she replied, his name dripping from her mouth like the words were poison. I laughed then, not with mirth but with ice.

"John?"I asked sardonically, "John is not my father. He just… happened to show up."

Clara – oh, whoops, sorry; Chartreuse – hissed at me, "What?" I gave her a look that clearly said I wasn't going to repeat myself. Faster than I could react, she flung herself at me, knocking me up against a wall. My head hit the brick and my vision crossed. She howled, "You bitch! What makes your life more valuable than my husband's? What made that Hunter come in and kill him without a second glance?"

"Oh, I don't know," I mumbled sarcastically, trying to focus and fight her iron grip, "The fact that he tore out people's throats might have had something to do with it." Screaming with fury, Clara blindingly backhanded me across the face, sending me sprawling to the ground. I spat blood out of my mouth, my vision spotting. She snarled at me, and suddenly she was on top of me. I pulled out my syringe and managed to plunge it into her neck. As I pushed the stopper down, she screamed. Before she went limp, she grabbed my head in both her hands, and smashed it against the ground.

Yeah; ouch.


	11. I'm Not A Vampire What the Fuck

Oh, God, my head hurt like hell. I moaned softly, gingerly putting a hand to the back of my head and winced, my hair stiff and crusty with blood. I knew where I was before I opened my eyes; the vampire nest. It was that same smell that had engrained itself into my nose all those years ago; mildew, metal, and wood. I opened my eyes blearily. " _Ugh,_ " I agonized softly. Gingerly sitting up, I looked around, my head swimming in pain. I hadn't been in that room for nine years, and let me tell you, it was not different at all. Well, it was dirtier. The bed that used to always be so clean was covered in years of grit and grime and the wallpaper was grossly peeling. I slowly reached for my pockets, and was disappointed but unsurprised when I found them empty. I was fairly certain Clara would have taken my syringes and my hunting knife. Which is why – I pulled my other hunting knife out from my left boot. It was always good to have a back up. I set the knife on the bed next to me and tentatively felt my head again. It was still wet with blood. I slowly looked down at the bed, and saw a nice little puddle of blood that had soaked into the bedspread. I sighed soundlessly and took off my jacket. I always dressed in layers for a reason. I slowly unbuttoned my shirt and shimmied out of it before putting my jacket back on.

I sighed again. I really like the shirt I had been wearing. It was a deep, chocolate brown and it was soft and – I stopped, disgusted with myself. I was starting to think like a regular girl, which I couldn't afford to do; I was a _Hunter._ I picked up my knife again, and slashed long strips off of my shirt, gritting my teeth as waves of dizziness washed over me from the jerky movement. After tying three strips of fabric together, I gently bound my head in the strips of cloth, wincing as I wrapped my head. I sighed and closed my eyes once I was finished. I'm sure I looked lovely, what with my hair caked with blood, and my head wrapped in brown cotton cloth. I mentally rolled my eyes at myself. It wasn't like anyone was going to see me. All I had to do was kill Clara, and then I'd be fine. Speaking of Clara…

A scream resounded through the nest, making me freeze. I scrambled off the bed, ignoring the thudding pain in my head, the rolling nausea in my stomach, and the spotting in my retinas. I scooped up my knife, ready to open the door to find out what was happening, when the door opened itself, and I was tackled, and sending flying back onto the bed, making me scream in pain as my head hit the bed. I smashed the attackers face, and they groaned. Realizing that he was male, I went into panic mode, and kneed him in the crotch, making _him_ yell in pain. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I managed to push him off me, shoving him off the bed. As he rolled on the ground in pain, I got a good look at him and calculated mentally what he would act like.

He was in his late 20s, that was obvious. He was very tall, over 6 feet, at least. Short, sandy blond hair that was spiked. He had a strong build. He wore old jeans, hiking boots, and a lot of layers; an undershirt (I was assuming), a T-Shirt, a plaid button-up, and an old leather jacket. He also had some weird amulet hanging around his neck that looked bronze and was a little head with horns. Okay, weird. As for how he would act… I figured that he was pretty aggressive, considering the way he had attacked me, but he was human, because of where I had hit him. Vampires weren't affected if you gave them a blow below the belt, which said a lot about them, I always thought. Also, he was pretty. I mean, really pretty, which made me wary. No guy should have been that pretty. So I decided that he probably used his good looks and assumed charm to get what he wanted. I found out late that my assumption about him using his looks and charm to his advantage was correct, but at that moment, he was not charming. In fact, " _You bitch_ ," he snarled as he scrambled to his feet unsteadily, towering over me.

"Wow, name-calling. That's original," I managed. I was shivering in fear. This guy was so _tall._ I may have been wearing a cami and a jacket, but I still felt exposed, which wasn't making me feel better. I didn't think I'd get out of that fight alive and – and he jumped me, pushing me back onto the bed, pinning me down. The 'danger' alarm suddenly exploded in my mind. I started screaming hysterically, basically frozen in fear. Tears coursed down my face while I trembled like a leaf. I think my initial reaction scared the guy. I'm sure he was expecting me to fight back, not collapse like a little girl. But my androphobia was so intense, I was literally defenseless when physically attacked by one, which… was not helpful. But as soon as this man saw I wasn't going to fight back, he sneered at me. He pulled a syringe out of his pocket and plunged it into my neck, making me shriek, "Are you fucking crazy?! I'm not a vampire! I swear!"As he pushed the plunger down, he snarled at me, "Sure. That's what they all say." He violently withdrew the syringe from my neck, making me cringe. He rolled off me, and I lay sobbing, shaking; feeling like I was going to throw up. The man was watching me with a scathing look on his face, but he also kept glancing at the door. I realized there was quite a bit of yelling in the distance. This outside noise helped my senses jump-start, and I flew off the bed and tackled the man while he was distracted.

Okay, not my best decision, considering I probably had a concussion and my head was still bleeding, but I was so distraught and it was just in my blood to destroy whatever attacked me, so I told myself that he was a vampire which was enough for me. Despite my small size, I used the springs from the bed to give me enough momentum to knock him over, sending us both tumbling to the ground. I knocked my head on the ground, and I laughed in pain. Confusion flickered in this guy's eyes, but the hesitancy was soon replaced by anger. He rolled over, taking me with him, pinning me to the ground again. I was able to free my left arm from his grip and delivered another blow to his face, not in defense this time, but offense. I heard a satisfying _crunch_ as his nose broke, blood spurting everywhere. I knew that he would be momentarily blinded, so as he roared in pain, I managed to grab my knife and I held it to his neck. "Get. Off. Me," I snarled, tears still on my face. He obliged, clutching his face. I stood up, but my victory was short-lived, because another man, one even taller than the first, came rushing in. He took a split-second look between the broken-nose guy and I, and he jumped at me. I screamed in terror, " _Castiel! I need you!_ " and threw my arms up in front of my face, protectively. I was knocked over again, crushed beneath the weight of this moose of a man, and I again started panicking while my head felt like it was going to burst. He wasn't nearly as pretty as the first, but I saw the intelligence in his hate-filled eyes, which scared me more than the other man had.

"Wait, Sam," the first man said, his nose still bleeding freely, "What's she just say?"

The man holding me down stopped his rapid assault on me and asked with a voice that sent shivers of fear down my spine, "What'd you just say, vamp?"

I whimpered, "I'm… not… a vampire…"

This man, Sam, roughly picked me up off the ground, and I screamed in pain and terror, my head pulsing and on fire. I managed to break one of my arms out of his grasp; I gave him the same blow to the face that I had the first man. While I didn't manage to get his nose square-on, the blow was nonetheless pretty powerful, so his grip on me was relinquished just long enough for me to break away. The blow also made my wrist crack, and I shrieked as I made a frantic sprint to the door, but the first man grabbed a hold of my arm and threw me back at this second man, Sam. My vision was going fuzzy; all the rapid movement was causing me severe head pains. And my body was shutting down from panic. Sam roughly grabbed both of my arms in an iron-grip so I was facing the second man, who swung his fist back, aiming for my face. Just before the blow landed, I realized something; I had seen Sam before; in the hospital back when I was with Danny. I felt my head explode with pain, and everything went black.


	12. Boys Are Literally SO Dumb

I would like you to note that I am unconscious for the following scene. When you have a concussion and a man the size of a small building punches you firmly in the face, you _will_ get knocked out. Just so that's clear. I know what happens during the following scene because I was told at a later time so whatever happens here I will not know for a while, just so that's clear.

" _Dean,_ " Sam admonished, holding my limp form and gently setting me down on the bed.

"What?" Dean asked, trying to staunch the bleeding of his nose, "She was freaking mental."

"But she said she's not a vampire," Sam pointed out, looking at me with a strange expression on his face.

" _Dude,_ " Dean replied incredulously, "You really believe that? Why the hell would she have just been laying around a vamp's nest for?"

Sam sat down on the bed next to where I was lying, unconscious and bleeding. A black eye was forming, and my lip had split, not to mention my head was still bleeding, blood trickling down my hairline. Sam frowned at me saying, "Maybe she was hunting and got hurt. She looks pretty bad, man."

Dean scoffed, "Whatever, man. If she's not a vamp, she's a Hunter. She had a damn hunting knife; it's over there on the ground where she dropped it." He indicated my knife, which had slid partway under a chair. Sam frowned over at Dean and Dean took his hand away from his nose and crossed his arms, asking, "What?"

"She's got a pulse," was all Sam said. He gently placed his thumb on my upper lip, looked at my gums, and winced, "Yeah, dude, she's no vamp."

Dean's arms dropped to his sides, and he looked surprised, "Did we… Did I just bust an innocent girl, then?" Sam grimaced and didn't say anything. Putting the issue of myself aside for a moment, Dean asked, "Did you gank the vamps? The real ones?" Sam nodded and Dean clapped him on the shoulder, saying, "All right, Sammy. Let's get out of here."

"We can't just leave her here," Sam shook his head, gesturing to me with a hand.

Dean blinked and said firmly, "Yes, we can. Let's go."

"No," replied Sam, just as firmly, "We can't. She's only like sixteen, Dean. We should bring her with us." _She's only like sixteen._ Mmmhmm. Sure, sixteen with four years of experience. Right.

"Sam," Dean sounded exasperated; "She's fine. She'll be fine; we can't just freaking kidnap a teenage girl." Did I really look like I was a teenager? Really? Thanks, guys.

Sam stood up and picked me up off the bed, holding me protectively in his arms, which would have made me throw up if I had been aware of what was going on. He said to Dean, "We're going to take her with us. Her head's bleeding really bad, Dean."

"Holy Christ," Dean said, disgusted, "You've got to stop thinking with your downstairs brain, Sammy. She's hot, okay, but she's not legal." Nice. Not only was I sixteen, but I was apparently a _hot_ sixteen year-old.

Sam scoffed at Dean in disbelief, "That's not what this is about, Dean. She's hurt."

"Uh-huh," Dean smirked, "What about that Eden chick we talked to on the phone last year? You could've taken your chance then, but you didn't so now you're settling for a sixteen-year-old." Dean shook his head, "Didn't know you were that desperate. We could've stopped by a bar any time."

Sam glared at him. Dean threw his hands up in the air and unwillingly agreed, "Fine, you perv, where do you want us to take her?"

Sam glared again, but thought a moment. He finally said, "We could take her to Massachusetts, where Erin is. It's only about four hours from here."

Dean sighed, "Fine. If we're lucky, she won't wake up before then. But since have we been lucky?"

Sam didn't say anything; he just walked out of the room, taking me with him.


	13. I School an FBI Agent and Almost Die

The moment I vaguely regained consciousness, I knew that I wasn't in the vamp nest anymore. I was in a freaking car. But I wasn't with Clara. How'd I know that? Well, for one thing, I wasn't tied up, I was just lying haphazardly on the back seat, and also, Clara didn't have a whiny old car that sounded like it came out of the 60s.

I kept my eyes closed, and didn't move. I wanted to figure out who I was with and plan an escape first. It was silent – well, no, okay, there was something blasting on the music player; _Black Sabbath_ or something, but no one was talking – for a few minutes. Then I heard the person in the driver's seat ask, "So where are we?" Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. It was that guy. That guy that had attacked me; the first one. The one whose nose I had broken. His voice sounded familiar, too, but I wasn't quite sure why.

"Uh," I heard the replying voice, accompanied by rustling paper – a map, I assumed, "We just passed… Dinosaur State Park, so we're about halfway there."

" _Dude_ , they have a place called Dinosaur State Park? That's frigging awesome!" _Dinosaur State Park_. I had heard of that place before, but that was in… Connecticut. Why the hell were we going through Connecticut? That was… I opened a mental map of the United States in my mind and – Dinosaur State Park was in the center of Connecticut. We were going north. But why? The route we were on had to have been Interstate 91, which meant… well, the next biggest stop on I-91 was Boston, but I didn't know enough about the guys that I could assume that. They could stop anywhere along the way.

"Yeah, okay, Dean," I heard the second voice say. My blood ran cold, and I consciously struggled to keep my breathing deep and even, to keep my cover. _Dean._ And what had Dean called this other guy? I wracked my brain, trying to remember which made my head hurt. It was pounding something awful. Finally, the answer came to me; _Sam._ Damn it. Sam and Dean. Where had I heard those names before? I wanted to sigh in frustration, but I couldn't. _Ugh; Sam and Dean._ Sam and Dean.

 _Oh, my God._

Sam and Dean Winchester.

Great. That was even worse than I had hoped. Not only had Dean hit on me a year and a half prior, but I had apparently also met Sam when I was sixteen. When I was _actually_ sixteen.

Okay, so get this; I was in the hospital with Danny, right? March 2006. He had been diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia about five months prior, so he had had numerous rounds of chemotherapy already, and was consequently bald, meaning I was bald, too, because like I said earlier, I shaved my head as soon as Danny's hair fell out. I also am going to mention that I had to wear a hospital bracelet since I technically lived at the hospital. So that may seem a bit strange, but just a reminder that I was only 13 when Danny was born. He had to stay in the hospital for a few months, too, since he was born prematurely, and was really small. Also, when he was born with a disease called cytomegalovirus. I won't get into details as to what that is, because it's really not pleasant stuff, but basically he and I lived in the hospital until he was one.

 _So what does that have to do with anything?_ Well, when the doctor first told me about how he had cytomegalovirus and that he needed to be kept in an incubator for a few months, I was really worried. First off, I _was_ thirteen, and didn't have any source of income, so I couldn't pay the hospital bills, and I also didn't have a home to live in. I explained all of that to the doctor, who had to bring the police in for legal purposes and I spent about a week and a half talking with them, and it was finally decided that if I could find someone who was willing to pay for Danny's hospital bills, then he and I could stay at the hospital as long as it was needed. _Well, crap,_ I had thought, because I literally didn't know anyone that would pay the sky-high hospital bills. Luckily, after a few phone calls, it turns out that Aunt Denise, my mom's cousin who lived in Ireland, was willing to help me out. My mom didn't have any cousins in Ireland, or anywhere else, for that matter. That was just my cover story. What really happened was that I committed credit card fraud at the age of thirteen,

So Danny and I lived in the hospital. However, when the year was up and he was better, I talked the hospital staff into letting us stay. And they said yes, after Aunt Denise wrote them a letter explaining that she was willing to keep paying whatever bills were needed.

Good old Aunt Denise.

The only catch for the whole thing was Danny and I had to wear hospital bracelets, so that it was evident we were supposed to be there. Of course, when he was diagnosed with cancer, he got a different wristband with his medical information on it, while I kept my generic old white one that just stated my name and age. I got a new wristband every birthday, which was sort of exciting. And also kind of sad, but anyways. I digress.

So March of 2006 rolled around, and Danny and I were both bald, Danny because he couldn't do anything about it, and me, because I was trying to be supportive and show my son that being bald wasn't something weird. I don't remember exactly what day it was, except for the fact that it was a Tuesday, because on Tuesdays they had butterscotch pudding in the cafeteria, and butterscotch was Danny's favorite. I was walking down the hall on the way to the cafeteria when a man in a suit came round the corner and bumped into me.

 _Side Note_ : While I was living at the hospital, I was not afraid of men after a time. After having lived in the same place for three years, I felt very safe. I knew no one in the hospital was a monster, and so I was at peace. And I could talk to men normally. It was only after my heart died alongside Danny when I stopped trusting men. My point of this note: I did not freak out when this man ran into me. It surprised me, initially, but it would have surprised anyone if a man over a foot taller than you suddenly appeared around the corner and ran into you.

Like I said, I was on my way to get butterscotch pudding when this giant rammed into me, almost making me fall over. He caught me almost instinctively, and righted me, looking horrified. He said, "Oh, my gosh. I'm so sorry, are you okay?"

I glanced up at him puzzled and nodded, saying, "Yeah, I'm fine. It's okay."

He still looked on guard and so, curiously, I asked, "Are you okay?"

He mumbled, " _Cristo,_ " looking at me.

I was really confused then and asked, "Um… _es vos totus vox?_ "

Looking surprised, he said in English, "Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Sorry."

I nodded again, "Okay." Somewhat awkwardly, I added, "Well, I need to go get pudding for my brother…"

Looking surprised, he asked, "Shouldn't he be getting stuff for you?"

I looked at him, confused for a moment, and then I realized; he thought I was the one with cancer. I mean, I did look it, what with the bald head and wrist band and all. I explained, "Oh… no. He's the one who's sick. I just… shaved my head for support."

He nodded and said kindly, "That's nice of you."

Blushing, I said, "Thanks."

He blushed, too, and asked, "I could stop by later, if you want?"

I narrowed my eyes almost imperceptibly at him and inquired, "Why? Who are you?"

He looked surprised with himself and cleared his throat and pulled out a badge and showed me, stating, "FBI. My name is Agent Jamal Afari. I have some questions I've been asking around, but you seem to be in a hurry, so I could stop by in a little while, if you'll still be here."

I knew he was lying, but I agreed, "Sure. Room 3214. My name's Eden, by the way."

I strolled past him to the cafeteria and picked up a bowl of butterscotch pudding for Danny. I returned to his room and he saw the bowl and grinned and asked, "Is that pudding, DenDen?"

I nodded, "Yep. It's pudding."

He looked hopeful and asked, "What kind?"

I grinned teasingly as I set the bowl and spoon down on his food tray, "It's strawberry."

He made a face at me then saw I was joking and he giggled, "That's not strawberry. That's butterscotch!"

I nodded, "You're right. I was being silly." I sat down on the edge of his bed and gently stroked his head while he ate his pudding. He was beautiful. Despite no longer having his soft blond curls, he still had his gorgeous blue eyes. They were shining that moment with happiness and I kissed his bald head softly. After he finished his pudding, I gently pushed his food tray and it slowly rolled to the side. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, frowning. He complained softly, "I'm hurting, DenDen."

I rubbed his cheek very gently and said, "I know, sweetie. But remember why? It's because the doctors gave you army medicine. The army men are fighting the bad guys right now."

He sighed and reached for my hand which I took. He confided in me, "I don't like the bad guys. I'm glad that the army men will make them leave." He leaned back on his pillows and I adjusted his covers gently. I said quietly, "I'm glad the army men are going to make the bad guys leave, too."

He yawned and requested sleepily, "Would you sing the sunshine song?"

I smiled gently and took his small hand in both of mine. Oh, I hated singing 'The Sunshine Song', as Danny called it, because it always made my heart hurt. But I had to oblige. I sang quietly, " _You are my sunshine my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey, you'll never know, dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away. The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping_ _,_ _I dreamed that you were by my side, when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, and I hung my head and cried._ _You are my sunshine my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey, you'll never know dear how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away."_ Danny never knew that I was his mother; he didn't really know how much he actually meant to me. And I didn't want him taken away from me. The next verse hurt me horribly every time I sang it, but upon Danny's insistence, I sang it. As I gently stroked his hand, I sang softly, " _I'll always love you and make you happy, if you will only say the same, but if you leave me to love another, you'll regret it all someday._ " He had fallen asleep by then. He was breathing small and even, in the comforting way that I had gotten used to watching. However, I only felt it necessary for him and for me, to finish the song, so I did. " _You are my sunshine my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey_ _,_ _you'll never know dear how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away._ "

I leaned forward and gently kissed his forehead. When I drew away, I noticed that the man who had run into me earlier was standing in the doorway. Or, well, I wouldn't call him a man. He was, but he was young. Eighteen or nineteen, I thought. He was super tall, but he looked young and innocent and sort of like a puppy. I stood up and walked over to the door. He stared wistfully over at Danny above my head, then down on me with a face that I could maybe call 'touched'. He thought it was cute. I whispered, "If you still need to talk to me that's fine, but if we could do it somewhere else, that would be nice. He's sleeping." I indicated Danny and the man nodded. I went over to Danny's bedside table and pulled the sticky note pad towards me, as well as the pen. I wrote notes for the nurses to read to him, to telling him where I went, so that way if he woke up and I was gone he wouldn't worry. I neatly wrote down, " _Gone to talk to a friend. I will be back soon. Love, Eden"._ I placed the note pad gently by his water glass and walked back over to the door where this guy was waiting. He was fairly nice-looking. He had brown hair that was sort of fluffy; it curled at the ends. His nose was kind of big and really triangular, but in a somewhat endearing sort of way. He also had a nice jawline; he had nice eyes, too. I couldn't really figure out what color they were; they were kind of like a jungle. I gestured out to the hall and he stepped out. I quietly shut Danny's door and I said, "We could go the sitting area just down the hall, if you want." He nodded and we walked to the sitting room. We passed a few nurses that said hi to me and I replied, smiling. One nurse in particular, stopped me, hugged me and asked me how Danny and I were doing. I smiled and told her he was sleeping but he was doing fine. She patted my cheek affectionately and walked the opposite direction. As the 'agent' and I trudged along he asked,

"So how long have you been here?"

"Uh, near three years now," I replied, peeking in the sitting room. It was empty. I opened the door and he entered and I followed. I plopped myself down on one of the couches, and he sat on a chair opposite me, looking at me curiously.

"Three years?" he repeated.

I nodded, "Yeah. Danny – that little boy – was born prematurely with a very serious virus, so he was in the hospital for about a year, and he was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia last October, and in between then he was sick quite often. He and I have lived here since he was born, really."

"What about your parents?" he asked.

'They're both dead," I replied patiently, "Danny and I live here year-round and my Aunt Denise who lives in Ireland pays for the living and medical expenses." It was something I was used to explaining, if a new staff member came around, or if Danny was in the children's play area, they always seemed to end up asking why I had a wristband if I wasn't a patient, and then I had to explain everything. I usually got weird looks, but not from this guy. I guess he was used to hearing weird stuff.

The agent looked sympathetic and acknowledged, "That's very sad to hear; I'm sorry." I shrugged and he asked, "So I have a few questions I need to ask you."

I wondered what in the world he was going to ask me, since he wasn't a real FBI agent, but I nodded and replied, "Okay, sure."

He asked somewhat awkwardly, "How is it around here?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Uh… how are the facilities in general? The lighting, the heating?" he specified.

I looked at him suspiciously and asked, "What, you mean like flickering lights or cold spots?"

He blinked, too, and then nodded, "Right. Have there been?"

I shook my head, "Nope. Everything's fine. No weird noises in the walls, no flickering lights, no cold spots, nothing."

He narrowed his eyes slightly at me and asked, "What do you mean?"

Patiently, I said, "You know what I mean because you're not an FBI agent."

The man raised an eyebrow and looked intrigued, asking, "What makes you say that?"

I explained, "You have to be at least twenty-three years of age to be an FBI agent, which you are not. Also, you don't talk like an FBI agent, and Jamal Afari is a Marvel comic character that hunts vampires."

He blinked and looked slightly crestfallen but I hurried on, "But that's okay. You're doing a fine job." He looked funnily at me and I shrugged. I asked, "So what are you really looking for? You're a Hunter, right?"

His mouth opened in surprise and I explained, "My parents were, so that's why I know."

He nodded and said, "Okay. Well… you're right. I'm a Hunter, and I'm looking for a ghost." I made a face and he said quickly, "It's not a violent one, just one that needs to be laid to rest."

I nodded, understanding and said, "Well, I truly haven't seen or felt or suspected anything around here of being supernatural. It's pretty normal."

He nodded and stood up, holding out his hand and I took it. We shook and he said, "Thanks. Nice talking to you, Eden."

I nodded and said, "Oh, and, uh... Jamal? You might want to just completely make up a name next time. While I'm sure you're great at hunting vampires, others might not be quite as understanding."

He grinned somewhat sheepishly and said, "Thanks. I'll see you around." I nodded and watched him leave, never expecting to see him again.

Yet there he was, less than two feet away from me, four years later, and I was seriously freaking out. Sam Winchester was Jamal Afari. Or, he pretended he was. He had met Danny. He had talked to me. _Oh, God_. Without thinking, I sat bolt upright and unlocked the door, forcing the door open, and tucking myself into a ball, I rolled out into four-lane traffic.

I heard a snatch of cry behind me, something that sounded like, " _Oh my fucking God!"_ but whatever exclamations that came from the Winchesters was soon overtaken by the honking horn of an oncoming semi. I instinctively flattened myself on the ground, feeling the rush of death passing over me. As soon as the truck was out of the way, I rolled off the road, and down into a valley, landing hard on my back. I was breathing heavily, whether from my near-death experience or an oncoming panic attack from being kidnapped by two men, I wasn't sure. I did know, however, that those two idiots were probably going to stop the car and sprint across traffic and try to get me. I climbed up the valley I had fallen into and peered down the road to find I was half-correct. The car I had been in had come to a screeching halt, but only Sam Winchester got out of the car and started sprinting to where I was. _Shit._ I sprang up and started running away from him. I may have been small, but my years of running had made me quite good at, well, running. But he had a one-foot height advantage over me, and so I knew he was going to catch up to me eventually. I was hoping, hoping, that I had a greater endurance than he.

I was right; after a good two minutes of solid running, I was as fine as ever, but I heard him getting farther away. My head was pounding in pain, and I was fairly certain it was bleeding again – oops – but my legs were good and rested and I felt I could run at least another solid five minutes, but considering adrenaline was pumping through my veins, it could have been longer than that, if needed. I heard Sam Winchester call out to me, "Stop! We're just trying to help!"

I yelled back, "I don't need it!" Somewhat ironically, I tripped at that moment by putting my foot in an unseen hole in the ground, and I ended up doing a head-over-heels backwards somersault that ended with my ankle going _pop_ and me shrieking as I fell down a rather sharp drop. I tumbled for a few solid seconds, my head hitting the ground painfully, still bleeding, and my ankle on fire, not to mention the discomfort of falling down a rocky hill. Once I smashed down at the bottom, I lay still, choking back a sob of pain. My eyes travelled up where I had just fallen and the trail of blood I had left behind was pretty visible. I gingerly say up after a minute and moaned. My damned head. Ow. I looked down at my ankle, which was dislocated and grimaced. Great. I also heard Sam approaching, but I knew that I wasn't going to be able to run away or even stand up, so I didn't attempt to move. I just say until he was pretty much right next to me. He knelt down, looking concerned. "Are you okay?" he asked, somewhat stupidly. Did it look like I was okay?

I didn't say anything; just took hold of my ankle, braced myself and popped it back into place, making Sam cringe and look nauseous. I rolled my eyes and unsteadily stood up, almost going down, but Sam had stood up and he steadied me, making me wince. I pulled out of his grasp, shivering. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said pathetically. Right, like I was going to believe that. It's not like he and his brother hadn't just kidnapped me or anything. I stayed silent and wretchedly limped way, Sam easily keeping up with me. "Where are you even going?" he asked concerned, "We're in the middle of Connecticut." I stayed stubbornly silent, and kept walking. After a minute, Sam said, "What's your name?" I, again, said nothing. He continued, "Why were you at that vamp's nest by yourself?" I continued, my stomach rolling in nausea. I just wanted him to stop talking to me. Actually, what I really wanted was a place to lie down and cry. Or to have my mom hold me. Sam stopped and held out his hand, startling me. "My name is Sam," he said, introducing himself, "You can trust me."

I was rather cold in my response; "I know your name, but I don't _know_ you. I don't _trust_ you. And don't," I threatened, "Say something stupid like 'Well, you have to get to know me before you can trust me,' because I have no desire to get to know you. Good day." I continued my walk and he continued alongside me, much to my chagrin. After a time, I stumbled and he caught me. I wasn't expecting his arm to suddenly be around my shoulder, however, and my instinct was to swing and punch him square in the face, again. The sound of breaking bone was audible and Sam doubled over in pain. I left him behind. I continued to limp for maybe half a minute when I heard someone running. And then I was pushed to the ground.

My head slammed against a rock and everything went dark.


	14. Mother Frigging Torchwood

Well, you can imagine that when I found my consciousness (again), I was not feeling too good. In fact, I felt quite the opposite of good. My head was still pounding, my stomach was churning, my ankle was throbbing, and pretty much every other part of my body was sore. Especially my wrist. I opened my eyes and sat up, and saw I was handcuffed to the car by my right hand. I jerked my hand with an overly-dramatic force, but the only fruit that come out of that was a loud clanging of metal against car-door handle and my wrist started bleeding. I frowned and continued trying to work my way out of the handcuffs for a good few minutes. Blood was trickling down my hand and wrist, and it hurt like hell, but I wasn't going to give Sam and Dean the satisfaction of seeing me wince in pain.

"Okay, will you stop that? It's making me nauseous," Dean finally said. I stopped and glared at him, not saying anything. I obliged, however, and slumped against the seat and looked out the window, watching the landscape of Connecticut roll by.

Dean was silent for a bit, and he finally introduced himself, "I'm Dean Winchester and this is my brother, Sam."

Sam added somewhat uncomfortably, "We're not going to hurt you."

I rolled my eyes, still looking out the window and Dean said incredulously, "Really, Sammy? That's what you say? 'We're not going to hurt you?' Dude, we kidnapped her and handcuffed her to my car!" I tilted my head slightly in agreement.

Rephrasing, Sam said, "We just don't want you hurting yourself." I sighed silently, exasperated.

Dean sounded frustrated, as well, "Dude, just stop. You're not helping." To me, Dean directed, "We're taking you to a base in Boston." So it _was_ Boston we were going to. Called it. Dean continued, "We've got a friend named Aaron that'll take care of you and help you get back on your feet." A small bubble of panic started to build in my chest. I didn't want some guy named Aaron to help me 'get back on my feet'. I started to work my hand out of the cuff again, and as a large stab of pain shot up my arm, I exclaimed quietly,

" _Shit!"_

Sam turned around at looked at me funnily. I threw a good punch. Defense was my specialty. I glared at him and saw that his nose was swollen, blood covering his face and he had two brilliant black eyes forming. I looked away and continued working my hand out of the cuff. Blood was steadily flowing down my wrist at this point, making Sam wince. I gave my raw wrist one last jerk, and blood spurted onto my face. I sighed in frustration. Sam was looking at me with something that was probably awe, but I didn't want to think about that. "How the hell are you not yelling in pain or something?" he asked me, incredulous, "That looks excruciating."

"Kamikaze Kate here seems to be more of a man than you'll ever be, Sammy," Dean laughed.

Finally nettled beyond silence, I quipped, "No, I'm more of a woman than either of you will ever be. And it's Sara, not Kate." I froze, horror seeping into my mind. Did I just… I just… I just told them my real name. Oh, my God. I had just told them my real name. _Damn it._

Sam was smiling a bit, which made me glare at him and Dean scoffed, "Okay, Sara, so you said you're more of a woman, but you're what, sixteen?"

Scathingly, I replied, "Something more like twenty."

Sam and Dean were both really surprised and Sam asked, "Wait, twenty? Really? You're twenty?"

I glared at him and hissed, "Yeah. Twenty."

Dean winked at Sam and I spat at him, "Don't even go there. Life's not about sex."

Dean raised an eyebrow and said, "It's funny. You're the second chick that's told me that. And she sounded a lot like you."

I replied sarcastically, "Really? No way."

There was silence a moment and Sam hesitantly asked, "Wait, so was that… were you…?"

Exasperated, and still trying to get my hand out of the freaking handcuff, I seethed, "Yes! That was me! I'm Eden _freaking_ Parker, okay?" In a burst of sudden rage, I managed to rip my hand from the handcuff, spraying my blood everywhere.

Sam winced and Dean shouted, "Christ, woman! Stop!"

I looked at them scathingly and asked mockingly, "What? Does a little blood bother you two?"

Dean's voice was pitched slightly higher than normal as he replied, "No! Just – _Christ_ – you just completely screwed up your wrist!" I looked at it and shrugged. There was blood all over my hand and arm and clothes and I thought you could maybe see the bones in my wrist but I wasn't sure.

Calmly, I agreed with him, "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's your own fault, though."

Spluttering, Sam asked, "Our fault? How is that _our fault_?"

Angry, I said, "Oh, I don't know! Maybe the fact that you knocked me out and kidnapped me, huh? Maybe the fact that you didn't just _let me go_ when I tried to get away and maybe the fact that you're the ones that fucking handcuffed me to the car, hm?"

Sam looked surprised at my outburst and unexpectedly, Dean was the one that said, "You're right. Sorry about that. But you were pretty hurt and we just wanted to get you out alive."

"Yeah, what the hell?" Sam suddenly asked, "Do you normally take a swan dive into four-lane traffic?"

"No," I replied dryly, "Mainly because I've never been in a situation where I've needed to."

Sam was silent at that and Dean chuckled, "Goodness, sweetheart, for someone who seems to be the quiet type, you sure have a colorful mouth."

I glared at him, not saying anything. There was silence for a little while and I unknowingly muttered, "Kamikaze Kate. Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean replied, making Sam start in surprise.

"Dean!" he admonished.

"What?" Dean asked, annoyed, "She is. She's a bitch. Mouthing us off and lying about who she is and –"

I interrupted my voice dripping with sarcasm, "And I absolutely cannot imagine that either of you have _ever_ done anything like that. It's not like you haven't pretended to be FBI agents by the name of Jamal Afari."

Sam's mouth dropped open and he sounded flabbergasted, "What?"

I glared at his him and repeated myself, "Jamal Afari. I met you quite a few years ago in a hospital in Salem, Ohio. I was that one weird girl living in the hospital?"

Sam looked even more surprised and he said, "So that was you? Eden from the hospital and then Eden Parker on the phone?"

I rolled my eyes and muttered, "Yeah, something like that."

Dean looked confused and asked, "What?"

"Back a few years ago, in 2006," Sam explained, "You and I were in Salem, hunting for that witch's corpse that had been buried under where the hospital was built?"

Dean nodded his head after thinking a moment, "Oh, yeah."

"Well," Sam continued, "I met Eden there. She was living at the hospital with her little brother and we talked for a bit and she figured out that…" he trailed off, embarrassed, so I finished,

"I told him to use completely made up names instead of Marvel characters and not to impersonate an FBI agent before you look at least twenty-three years of age."

Dean laughed and hit Sam in the shoulder, making Sam yelp in surprise. Dean chuckled, "Oh, man, Sammy, you got one-upped!"

Sam glared at Dean a moment then asked me, "So you've introduced yourself three times, and twice you've said your name was Eden, but you just said that your name was Sara. So what's your real one?"

I stayed silent a moment, biting my lip. I didn't want to tell them, but I had already screwed up. I might as well tell them the whole truth, which surprised me, as that is not what I normally would have done. I admitted slowly, "Sara. Once I started living on my own, I started going by the name Eden Parker as a disguise. I've been called Eden longer than I have been Sarah, so I'm not sure what's real and what isn't."

Dean raised an eyebrow and asked, "Why 'Eden Parker'?"

I glared and replied, " _Not_ that it is any of your business, but my mother's name was Eden, and Spiderman was my favorite superhero when I was a child."

Sam looked confused but Dean nodded like he understood. Sam asked, "Uh, what does Spiderman have to do with that?"

"Come on, Sammy," Dean answered exasperated, "Spiderman's name was Peter Parker."

I nodded, "Right. And my father's name was Peter, and I told him that if our last name was 'Parker', then his name would be 'Peter Parker'."

Sam smiled and I bit my lip, realizing I had just been telling them about my past, something I never did. _Although…_ I thought a bit, _I had been telling more and more people about my past in recent years. Maybe that's not such a bad thing._

Dean's phone rang and he flipped it open and said, "Hey, Aaron. Yeah, we're on our way. We have a girl named Sarah who we found chilling at a vamp's nest. She's clean, but she's pretty beat up so we were wondering if we could bring her and have you patch her up. Great; thanks. See you in five." He flipped the phone shut and tossed it in the cup holder in the front seat.

I muttered, "You didn't even ask if I had a place that I'd rather be."

"Oh," Sam said, sounding surprised as he turned around to look at me, "Um… do you have somewhere that you can stay?"

"Well, my pickup truck is back in New York," I mumbled.

" _Do you have somewhere to stay_?" Sam stressed. I reluctantly shook my head 'no', causing a pain to sear through my head, and Sam looked at me funnily again and asked curiously, "Then why'd you say anything?"

I didn't say anything; I just looked down at my wrist and cradled it. It was still bleeding, but the edges were starting to dry up, which was good. A thick band of congealed blood was starting to form, creating a sort of bracelet for my wrist. Sam frowned and looked at my wrist and said concerned, "We could have just given you a key, you know."

Tightly, I replied, "Yes, I suppose you could have, but you never offered, and I wasn't going to bother to ask, so here we are."

Sam's eyes cracked slightly, making me turn my head away. I didn't want someone I barely knew feeling sorry for me. Dean slowed the car down and parked. I looked out the window and my eyes widened slightly. Sam frowned, "Dean you sure this it? There's nothing here."

Dean shrugged, "I mean, this is the address Aaron gave me."

I rolled my eyes and got out of the car, making Sam and Dean start in surprise. Sam got out and I walked up to the building that was apparently not there and I knocked on the door. Sam and Dean looked at me with confused faces, and a few seconds later the door opened.

It was Erin. Not _Aaron._ Erin. The girl that I had fought the Slitheen with. Interesting. That calmed me down slightly. She looked as surprised to see me, as well. "Eden?" She asked her eyebrows furrowed.

"Hey," I said casually. I glanced back at Sam and Dean and they were still looking confused.

"But, how did you –" Erin started ask.

"See the front door?" I said, finishing her question, "Perception filter, right? I read about them when I was twelve. I've been able to remove my filter, so I can see everything as it is."

She looked at me and said slowly, "Right. Well, that's impressive."

She looked past me and asked Sam and Dean, "So where's this Sara that you were talking about?"

Dean stayed silent and faintly gestured to me. Erin swung her attention back to me, and really took in how I looked. She gasped, "Oh, my gosh. What happened?"

I supplied, "Well, I went to go kill a vampire, but I ended up getting a concussion. And then these two kidnapped me, and probably made my concussion worse, and –" I held up my bleeding wrist, "– they wanted to make sure I didn't get away."

Sounding incredulous and incredibly sarcastic, Erin said, "Well, that was kind of them. But they said that the person they were bringing was named Sara, not Eden."

I shrugged and asked, "You've never made up names for yourself before?" She smiled a bit and I said, "But my real name is Sara."

Full-on smiling now, she said, "Nice to meet you Sara." Taking a step back, she gestured me inside, and added, "Welcome to Torchwood."


	15. What the Fuck is a Disney

Thus began my life at Torchwood.

After I had gotten settled in my own room (which was weird) and become the owner of some new 'household things' like towels (which was also weird), I started working. The first week I was there I was supposed to rest, letting my head heal, but I refused to unless someone went and got my truck from New York. Well, what I actually said was that I was going to get my truck from New York, but Sam and Dean said that wasn't happening, so basically they drove back to New York the next day, and brought my truck back. That was sort of surprising, but it was nice of them. I quietly thanked them when Sam walked back in and handed me my keys. He asked if I needed help carrying anything in, what with my ankle, which was in a splint, and I shook my head. "I can manage," I said softly. He nodded without comment, probably deciding that I didn't want to be bothered – which I didn't – and he left, went off to go do whatever it was he did.

I spent the next two hours hauling everything in. I had packed everything that I lived with into the bed of my truck, or in the front seat, and let me tell you, I was good at compact living. I had all of my books from Bobby – a dozen, remember – which created a huge stack that I carried in. I was inwardly amused when I carried those books in, because Sam had come back and was sitting in the room just next to the front door, and he saw me with this huge stack of books that I had to peer around to see over. He stood up, alarmed and hurried over."Do you need help?" He asked apprehensively.

"No," I replied smoothly. I really didn't need help. I could carry that stack of books and not drop a single one, if I didn't want to; which I didn't, so I didn't. Sam trailed behind me, worriedly as I walked to my room and I swear I could hear him sigh in relief when I set the stack of books neatly down on the floor. I swept past him and walked back out the door, and proceeded to care in box after box after bag of my possessions, to a point where Sam looked slightly confused, because he just kept standing by my doorway, watching me deposit my belongings into my room, only to return a few minutes later with another box or bag or both. I am not going to apologize for being good at packing things; it's a talent.

After finally hauling the last box in, I got to work at unpacking everything. Sam stayed in the doorway, which was making me really uncomfortable, but it wasn't like I was going to just _say_ that, so I didn't say anything. I did notice however, that the amount of stuff I could fit in all my boxes surprised Sam a great deal. I could literally hear him marvel under his breath when I started pulling out all my weapons from my weapons case; I mean, sure, I _did_ have a lot of weapons, probably 50 or so, and Sam just could not get over how I could fit all of them in one box. He actually asked me, 'How d'you pack stuff like that?"

I glanced up at him, setting aside a handgun, and puzzled, "What do you mean?"

He did this funny floppy-hand gesture towards me, the box, and all the contents around me and clarified, "Like that. You just keep pulling stuff out of that box like Mary Poppins."

Not going to lie, I didn't know who Mary Poppins was, and I let him know that. I replied, "Well, I don't know who Mary Poppins is. I guess I'm just good at packing things."

Sam blinked at me and looked even more confused, which I inwardly decided was because he was a man – nope, I'm not joking, that's what I literally thought – and so I didn't question his confusion. But he sure clarified as to what was making him puzzled.

"You don't know who Mary Poppins is?" He asked curiously.

I sighed. I didn't want to talk anymore. I had had enough human interaction in the past three days to last me a lifetime. However, the little voice in my head told me not to be rude so I dragged out my reply; "Uhm… no… Is she a Hunter?"

Sam laughed nicely at me, which made me imperceptibly cringe. I didn't want anyone laughing at me. I wasn't funny and I didn't want to think I was. Sam told me, "Mary Poppins is a Disney character. She's the nanny of these two kids and she can pull pretty much everything from this one bag she carries. Even things you wouldn't think would fit, like lamps and stuff. It's magic."

Okay. What the hell. I was _not_ keeping lamps in my boxes and I was certainly not pulling stuff out of my boxes with… magic or whatever. And I had no idea what a Disney was. I must have been looking at him awfully strange because he shook his head and said, "Never mind. It was meant to be a compliment."

Oh, no. Nope. I did _not_ want compliments. "Thanks," I said somewhat monotonously.

Sam fell silent, and I felt sort of bad, because I knew he meant that as a serious compliment, that he wasn't making fun of me, but I really, really did not want this boy to be giving me compliments. He was big, and scary, and I really did not want to be friends with him. I hadn't ever had friends, ever, and I had gotten by fine, so I figured I didn't need to start. But, again, my conscious forced me to be polite and continue on the conversation. I changed the topic to something that was not directed at me, however. "How's John doing?"

Sam's eyes opened a bit wider and I immediately knew, just by the way he slumped a little bit, and how his eyes cracked. I was about to apologize when Sam said, "He died. Helping Dean and I kill Azazel."

Now that answer threw me off guard. I spluttered quietly, "What – he… you killed… oh, my God. I'm sorry…"

Sam shrugged and responded almost indifferently, "It was a while ago. Pretty soon after we talked to you on the phone, actually."

Oh. Wow. Oh. And Azazel was dead. Oh. That was… good? I guess.

I sat on the floor surrounded by weapons and books and just stared at the ground, my mouth opened in surprise. I took the cross pendant from my necklace in between my fingers and slid it back and forth on its chain, like I did when I was mentally sorting things into file folders. I stayed silent a long time, sorting through my thoughts. If Azazel was dead, did that mean that I was no longer 'safe'? Demons never went out of their way to hurt me, I had found. They sort of stayed away from me, if they could help it. I literally had to go and _look_ for things that wanted to maybe kill me. Because they wouldn't come find me on their own. _Maybe that's why I had survived so long._ That thought surprised me, and self-doubt suddenly flooded me. What if I had only survived all these years because Azazel specifically told his crew to keep out of my way? I rolled my eyes at myself. _Seriously, Sara?_ I inwardly chided, _You've hunted a lot more than just demons, and_ they _came looking for you. Stop. You survived because you're a survivor, not because some demon was protecting you._ I sighed and looked up to find Sam grinning at me.

"What?" I uneasily asked.

He struggled a moment, trying to pull himself together and finally voiced, "You were just silent for almost a whole minute, and were making faces at yourself. It was… funny."

I imperceptibly narrowed my eyes at him, mentally analyzing the pause that he had taken before saying the word 'funny'. He obviously wanted to say something other than that. After a moment, I decided he most likely wanted to say either 'cute' or 'weird'. I ended up deciding on 'cute', though, not because I wanted him to think I was cute, but because he logically probably wouldn't have been smiling at me if he thought I was weird. "Thanks," I replied drily, "I was thinking."

"I could tell," Sam laughed gently and my skin prickled, not from fear but from something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. I decided to push away my uncertainty, and I continued pulling things out of the weapons box. When I had emptied it, I expertly turned the box upside down, and disassembled the flaps, flattening the box as a result. I slid it under the bed in the room and then started sorting the pile of weapons on the floor. A minute or so later, I looked up to find Sam still watching me. I didn't mean to, but I bit my lip. His standing there was really unnerving, I mean, I was already sweating, I had been for about half an hour, as a result of carrying in all of my belongings, but also Sam's constant presence was causing me anxiety. Androphobia wasn't usually a problem, but it was then.

And given the genuine way Sam was smiling at me, it seemed that the problem was about to get a whole lot worse.


	16. I Get Promoted to A Non-Existant Job

I was really, really hoping that Sam and Dean Winchester were going to leave within a few days. But of course, what with the amount of luck I had – or didn't have – the supernatural radar fell silent, so they decided to stick around. I mean, it wasn't hard avoiding Dean; he was sort of… drunk all the time, or he was sleeping, or he was eating. He also didn't come _looking_ to talk to me. So I managed to stay out of his way. Sam was another story. I don't know why, but he seemed really intrigued with me, and that was really awful. I was only at Torchwood because that one guy, Jack had asked me to stick around, as well, and invent stuff.

Yes, Captain Jack Harkness. That perverted… anyways. I found out rather quickly that he was always a little… familiar… with people. I also found out that he was in a relationship, so I didn't really worry about him. Actually, he was probably the only male at the base that I wasn't constantly worrying about accidentally running into. Actually, the time I was ever the most terrified of him was not the first time I met him, in Baltimore, but the second time, at the Torchwood base.

Okay, so I had sort started cooking all the meals without really being asked because I really like cooking, and it was obvious no one else really did. I mean, Erin _could_ but she was super busy. She was the base's chief medical doctor and consequently, she was always doing stuff. So I just took over the cooking. I was the first one up in the morning, made breakfast, then when everyone was eating, I would go work – I'll get to what I did in a minute – and then when everyone else was working, I would make the next meal, and so on and so forth. I was also the last one to bed. Yeah, I'd get up at about five in the morning and go to bed about one in the morning. I didn't need a lot of sleep.

Getting back to my point, I was in the kitchen cooking lunch about three days after I had arrived at Torchwood, the day after Sam and Dean brought my truck back, which was also the day after I realized I needed to avoid Sam, when Jack strolled into the kitchen, whistling _The Blue Danube._ "Hey, sweetheart," he greeted me. I bit the inside of my lip, not bothering to look at him. I was okay; I was safe. There was a pot of boiling alfredo sauce on the stove that I could dump on his head, if needed. "I have a question I need to ask you," Jack continued smoothly, despite my stony silence. I stayed silent, knowing that if he really wanted to ask me, he'd ask me, whether I willed him to or no. A few seconds later, he inquired, "What do you think of homosexual relationships?"

 _What?_ That was _not_ what I was expecting. I turned around and spluttered, "What do you mean?"

Jack's face was impassive when he answered, "I'm dating a man named Ianto Jones, and I was hoping that it's not something that will bother you."

I looked at him funnily and said, "No." Jack raised an eyebrow and I clarified, "That's not going to bother me." I don't think he believed me, because he raised his other eyebrow at me then, as well. Frustrated, I verified, "I don't like relationships in general."

" _What?_ " was Jack's reply, and he sounded just as shocked as I had felt a minute ago.

I turned the heat down on the alfredo sauce and set the wooden spoon I was using to stir on the counter. I faced Jack again and rubbed my forehead. I explained, "It's not that they bother me in the way that the thought of others dating one another is horrifying, but in the way where the thought of me, personally, being romantically involved with anyone makes me want to throw up." Jack's eyebrows shot up further, if such a thing were possible. I bit my lip in aggravation, trying to make him understand. I finally said, "You're relationship with anyone or anything will not bother me."

Jack laughed at me, amused, "I am gratified that you clarified that I could be in a romantic relationship not only with any _one_ , but also any _thing_. That's very good information to know." I shrugged, not cracking a smile, and turned back around.

"So you really don't like relationships, huh?" Jack asked me, curious, "That's very surprising."

"Why's that?" I asked, somewhat curious, though I didn't let my voice show it. I swooped my long hair over my shoulder, which seemed to be amusing to Jack.

"Well, you're very pretty for one thing," he observed, "With that long chocolate brown hair of yours, and you're small size."

"Well, maybe you're just abnormally tall," I shot back, "Perhaps I'm a normal size."

"You're really small, doll face," Jack informed me, amused, "It's not normal."

"I'm 5'6"!" I protested quietly.

"How old are you?" He asked, and I could hear the amused smile in his voice.

"I'm twenty," I muttered, stirring the noodles on the stove. I hated when people asked me that.

"And that," Jack full-out laughed, "Is why you're small. A twenty-year-old the size of a fifteen-year-old."

"Thanks," I replied sarcastically, "I just love it when people tell me that. It's every twenty-year-old's dream to look like a young teenager."

Jack roared with laughter, which made me wince. He stopped after a minute then asked, "Do you still make gadgets?"

The change of subject threw me off-guard, but I nodded. "Yeah, I do. I mean, I haven't for a while, but I still know how to."

"Of course you can," Jack agreed generously, "And I was wondering if I could make you in charge of the Gadgets' Department."

I turned around, raising an eyebrow at him and asked skeptically, "Is there such a thing?"

Jack shrugged, "There will be if you say yes."

I rolled my eyes and muttered, "Sure."

His eyes lit up and he asked, "Really?"

I sighed, trying not to sound exasperated, "Yes. Yes, I'll do it."

"Great," Jack grinned. He strode over to me and squeezed my shoulder, making me shriek and flinch away from him. He quickly withdrew his hand, looking uncertain.

I shivered, "Sorry."

Concerned, Jack asked, "Did I hurt you?"

"No," I quickly shook my head, "No. It's me. Sorry… I just…" My voice became almost inaudible as I muttered, "I don't like it when people touch me."

"Haphephobia," Jack supplied, surprising me. I nodded. Jack said sincerely, "I'll keep that in mind."

"Thanks," I said quietly.

He nodded at me and as a goodbye, stated, "Meet me in Room 6027 at four pm, so I can tell you what your responsibilities will be."

"Right," I agreed, and watched him as he left, slightly confused.

I had just had a successful conversation with a man who terrified me.

I guess things were looking up.

I guess.


	17. For the LOVE of GOD LEAVE ME ALONE

I met with Jack later that day, and he explained to me that what my job would basically entail would be making gadgets. Fascinating and unexpected, right? I thought that at first, too, sarcastically, of course. However, as he explained to me more and more, I actually started to get a bit excited. It wasn't your run-of-the-mill gadgets that I was going to be making; I was going to be making _Torchwood_ gadgets, meaning that I was going to get to use technology from other planets. _Wait, other planets?_ Yeah, that's right. Jack told me about how he used to be _TIME AGENT_ and traveled all over the _galaxy_ through _space_ and _time._ He also said he was from five billion years or so in my future, which I thought was weird, but no weirder than anything else he told me, so I accepted that. But yeah, alien life forms existed, which I already knew with the Slitheen I had encountered all those years ago, but he also said something about parallel universe, which I decided not to think about.

Oooh, and get this, I got an entire lab to myself. Now, that may not sound like a lot, but it was a huge room, about the size of a gymnasium at a public high school. Actually, that's what I thought it might be the size of. I had never been to a public – or private, for that matter – school of any kind, so my guess was, well, nothing more than a guess. But the room was huge, and that was nice. I was going to get it all to myself, and that was fantastic. A huge room where I could test gadgets, and build them in complete solitude. And I was safe. That was a big thing, too. If I was going to have to stay alive until I met my soul mate, then I was going to have at least _attempt_ to stay safe, which was not going to be hard when I was holed up in the Torchwood base all day.

Speaking of soul mates… Castiel apparently liked to stick around the base, too. The day I arrived, I was sure I was hallucinating from my concussion, because I saw _Castiel_ show up. Now that, on its own, was weird, but was even weirder was that… well…

He kissed Erin hello. I don't mean on the cheek, but _full on kiss_ , as in on the lips, his arms wrapping around her waist, drawing her close to him, her arms twined around his neck and in his hair. My guardian angel was dating a girl that I had fought an alien with. That was maybe going to take some getting used to.

Life was weird.

So once I got all of those things check off my list, I sort of… well, fell below the radar, I guess you could say. I didn't really talk to anyone, except for Jack, who sent me memos about what he needed invented and when he would like it by, and I'd send him back messages if I had question or any concerns (which I hardly ever did). I got up early, made breakfast, worked, made lunch, worked, made supper, worked, slept for a couple of hours (maybe; sometimes I didn't sleep. I didn't like sleeping. It was a waste of time. Coffee was my drug), and then repeated the whole thing again the next day. And the weird thing was I found out that I _liked_ having a schedule. It made me calmer, feel more secure. In fact, everything was pretty great; smooth, calm.

Except for one wave that I could not seem to get around; Sam Winchester. That infuriatingly terrifying boy just kept trying to talk to me, despite my constant silence in his presence. I was constantly berating myself for talking to him that day when he brought my truck back, because that seemed to ignite a spark of courage that he had. I suppose I could have told him to leave me alone, but I thought that'd be impolite. And slightly awkward, considering he sort of was living at the base. I mean, he and Dean would up-and-out for a few days here and there to go on a hunt, but they always came back, much to my surprise. I was hoping they'd just… I don't know… leave.

I was puzzled for a while as to why they _did_ come back. I understood why Sam wanted to; he was apparently not going to rest until he got me to talk to him, but I puzzled over Dean for a while. He seemed as fed up with Sam's attempts to befriend me as I was. But after some, um… observing – _not_ the creepy kind – I finally figured it out.

Apparently 'Cas' (what the others called Castiel, I don't know. I thought it was weird) was really good friends with Sam and Dean, and he had saved Dean from hell (or something, I didn't know the full story because there was _no way_ I was going to ask) and Dean felt indebted to him, so he stuck around. Or at least, that's what I initially thought. But as time went on, I realized something; Dean liked Castiel. Not in a friendly way, nor a brotherly way, but in a romantic way. Like I had said to Jack, homosexuals, or bisexuals, or sexual-anything, did not bother me. Well, necrophilia would have bothered me. It's just downright creepy. Thankfully, no one at the base was romantically or sexually interested in dead bodies, so I was safe. What bothered me, though, was as time went on, I also realized that Cas liked Dean _back_. And Castiel was dating Erin.

Ouch.

 _How_ did I know that Dean and Cas had a mutual attraction? Well, I don't know how to explain it. I had never been in a relationship, but I had gotten good at reading people's body language and could sort of interpret what they said 'between the lines', if you will. I guess… it was the way they looked at each other when the other was not looking. Or the way they _did_ look at each other when the other was looking. Also they had this somewhat stilted and awkward way of talking to each other. _I don't know,_ it was just obvious to me. And that made me nervous.

Erin was a nice person. I didn't know her, really, at all, but I could tell she was a genuinely nice and caring person, and it was blatant to me that she really cared for Castiel a lot. So now I was stuck in the middle on an unknown love triangle and it was really awful because I just couldn't go tell everyone that Castiel and Dean liked each other and it was really frustrating and made me understand why I had been content all those years living alone, or with toddlers who didn't understand what romance was. _I_ barely understood what romance was.

So I had this love triangle problem that I wasn't a part of that was worrying me, not to mention Sam Winchester following me all the time. Actually, he didn't follow me all the time. He didn't even follow me half the time. He didn't even follow me. He just found ways to come see me while I was working. For a solid week or so, he wouldn't even come in; he'd just pass by with a worried expression on his face. At the time it was really sort of creepy, but looking back, I think he was just concerned about me. I mean, I didn't talk to anyone. And I was really thin – I didn't need to eat or sleep a lot, so I weighed in around one hundred ten pounds. I mean, yeah, I was underweight, but I had been pretty much my whole life, so it didn't really bother me, you know? I was really thin, mainly skin, bone and muscle. My collar bones stuck out a bit sharper than they probably should have, and if you saw me with my shirt off then you'd be able to visibly see the outline of my ribs, and my hip bones stuck out. Now, a lot of girls that I had met seemed to picture that as the 'perfect' body; lots of curves, no fat, but let me tell you, it's not all it's cracked up to be. It's easier to hurt yourself, it's easier to faint, to get picked up and thrown by your enemies. Not good. But I didn't care. I didn't take care of myself because I wanted to be thin, but because I truly just didn't care what I looked like or my health.

Getting back to the topic of Sam Winchester, I'm fairly certain he was concerned for my lack of health and social life. At the time though, he just made me nervous. One day, about two weeks after I had arrived at Torchwood, I was sitting at a lab table in the Gadgets' Room constructing a hydrophobic gun when the door opened. My head shot up as I tensed, and Sam looked nervous. "Hi," he said. I didn't say anything; just accidentally bit my lip again. After a moment, he asked, "Can I come in?"

My heart started pounding. No, no, nope, you cannot come in. _Go away_. "Sure," I said quietly. I looked back down at the gun. I had developed it enough that I could shoot Sam if I needed to. But I figured Sam wasn't there to hurt me, just there to talk. That didn't make me feel all that much better, though.

"How are you?" Sam asked, trying to sound casual. I shrugged. "You don't really sleep a lot, do you?" He observed. I glanced up at him sharply, my eyes inquiring, and he informed me, "You make breakfast every day – thank you, by the way – and so you have to get up early. And my room is just down the hall from here, and whenever I go to bed the light in here is always on. And that's usually at midnight." I sighed silently, and shrugged again. I wasn't trying to be anti-social; I was trying not to throw up. Men terrified me, if you hadn't caught onto that fact yet. Especially Sam. I don't know why, but there was something about him. I could back talk to Dean perfectly fine but I just _couldn't_ phrase my words around Sam. I decided it was because he was the biggest. He was; I mean, he was basically six and a half feet tall, while Dean was just over six feet. Everyone else was shorter than that. The only person less than six feet tall, actually, was Erin. But I never saw her, so I was sort of on my own. And I liked it that way. "Are you sick?" he asked concerned. I looked up at him surprised.

Somehow, I managed to reply quietly, "Why would you ask that?"

"Well," Sam listed, "Like I said, you don't sleep, I don't think you eat very much, you never talk to anyone and you don't laugh or smile and you seem tired."

"Uhm," I stuttered softly, fixing a piece of the gun handle, "I'm fine. I just like being alone."

"Oh," Sam said surprised. After a moment he asked, "What are you making?"

"Hydrophobic gun," I answered vaguely. I probably should have added more to that, but I was seriously freaking out, my stomach churning, my head spinning.

"That's really neat," Sam replied.

"Thanks," was my almost inaudible reply.

I continued working on the gun and I set it aside after about twenty minutes, having finished it. I started assembling another hydrophobic gun. Jack and Ianto were going on some underwater expedition in Lake Michigan. Apparently an alien was living there, and they needed to bring it back. Or kill it. Whichever it was, they needed a lot of specialized gear that couldn't get wet. I was having a good time developing everything, because you can't just by hydrophobic materials. You had to gather materials that were perfectly hydrophilic and arrange and mold them in such a way that the final product became hydrophobic. After a while, Sam asked, "What do they do?"

I jumped about half a foot in the air. Somehow, I had managed to forget he was there. "What?" I asked, choking on a gasp.

Looking slightly alarmed, Sam repeated, "The guns. What do they do?"

"Well, they're just regular guns," I explained, catching my breath, "Except that they can be used underwater."

Looking intrigued, he asked, "Yeah? That's really neat. Jack and Ianto need them for that underwater hunt they're going on next week, right?" I nodded, and Sam looked satisfied with that response, thank the Lord. He stood up and inquired, "Do you need anything?"

Wanting nothing more than for him to leave, I shook my head and assured him quietly, "No, I'm fine, thank you."

He nodded his head once and said, "See you around, Sara." I nodded once more, and after pausing and staring at me a second, he walked out the door, closing it behind him. I waited until I heard him turn the corner down the hall, and I melted. Oh my gosh. I put down the gun I was working on collapsed against the table. I felt sweat trickling down my neck and my head was spinning nonstop. I shivered, overtaken with chills. I mentally comforted myself while taking deep breaths; _Okay, okay, that wasn't so bad. He just was talking to you about the guns you were making; that's not bad at all. He didn't try to touch you, and he was concerned about your health; that was nice of him._

 _That was nice of him._

It was nice of him.

And that, right there, was what the problem was.


	18. I'm Lame and Bad at Comforting People

The next month passed pretty smoothly. Sam would still come in every once in a while and ask me how I was doing, what I was working on, and I told him about the gadgets. But I never told him about myself.

I didn't always work on things for Jack. When I was in-between jobs, which was more often than not, I just was sort of left to my own devices (haha, I know, a pun; look, I'm funny). For example, I built my own laptop computer. It was pretty neat, if I may say so, which I can, since I'm the one telling this story. Anyways, this laptop wasn't your generic laptop. Nope, the only way to get it open was if I, personally, opened it. The laptop responded to my fingerprints. Now, theoretically, if I programmed other people's fingers into the computer, they could open it, too, but that would only happen if I grew to trust people, which would never happen, so never mind. Basically, when the laptop was closed, it just looked like a thin chunk of chrome, but if I placed my palm on the top of it, then the laptop diffused and I could then open it like a normal computer. Of course, then I had a password to log in, and other security measures, because I was paranoid, but that's beside the point.

So anyways, I sort of was below everyone's radar, like I said earlier; no one talked to me or anything except for Sam and Jack. And it stayed that way until the 29th of November 2009. I don't know why the date sticks in my head, other than the fact that it was the day Erin and I became friends, which I realize is actually a pretty significant reason, because she was my first friend.

I was in the Gadgets' Department lab – crazy, I know. It's not like I ever went there – when the door crashed open. I jumped up and looked towards the door, my heart pounding. It was Erin. I relaxed, but immediately my heart rate sped up again; she was sobbing. To my utter bewilderment, she rushed over and hugged me, wrapping her arms tightly around me despite my sudden tension.

Oh. Okay. Uhm – I gingerly wrapped my arms around her and let her cry. As she clung to me, a thought entered my mind; _I was hugging someone_. I hadn't hugged someone for almost two years. It was actually sort of nice. After a few minutes, Erin disentangled herself from me and collapsed on a chair, sniffling. Unsure what to do, and very damp from her tears, I gingerly sat down by her and asked quietly, "Erin? What is it?"

She sobbed harder, and I sat patiently. I was surprised to find that I wasn't at all nervous about talking to her, and I also wasn't shaking from her having touched me. Hugged me, no less, which was even more than a touch, and that left me confused. Maybe I wasn't haphephobic? Maybe I just didn't like it when men touched me, which could be part of my androphobia. Maybe I didn't even have phobias. Maybe I was a hypochondriac, always thinking I had a disease or sickness when I didn't. Maybe nothing was wrong with me at all. Anyways. I cleared my head. Erin needed help; I needed to pay attention to her.

"It's – it's Cas," she finally choked out. _Oh, no_. He broke up with her, didn't he? He told her he was gay and really liked Dean. "He broke up with me!" she cried, "Because he's gay and he really likes Dean!"

Yeah.

I was silent a moment, and then said, "I'd say I'm sorry. But I'm fairly certain that won't make you feel better." She looked at me, surprised and upset and I'm fairly certain a little bit angry, too. I mentally hit myself. _She came to you for comfort, not logical explanations_. I attempted, "At least he was being honest with you."

"Being… _honest_ with me?" she spluttered, "He hasn't been _honest_ with me for almost a year! Not since he saved _Dean Winchester!_ " She dissolved into another round of tears, and I watched her, almost fascinated by how torn up she was. Were relationships with other people that heart-breaking? I mean, logically, they must have been, considering how devastated Erin was, but still…. It was interesting to watch, as insensitive as that sounds. Just think of my observations of others as my informal lessons on how to be a normal human being. I mean, that's basically what they were.

"It's not fair," she groused tearfully, "Everyone in my life has either died or hurt me."

I looked at her, silently willing her to continue. I wondered how much we had in common, she and I. She hiccupped on her uneven breathing and burst out, "My parents died when I was ten. They died on a playground when it exploded! I mean… what the hell? What sort of playground just explodes?" I was silent, knowing people _at least_ well enough to understand when they just wanted to rant. She continued, "And that's when I met Jack and Ianto. Jack was so nice and so kind, and when he realized that I was… smart, he asked me if I wanted to go to Torchwood, a place that fought and collected alien life forms. I was ten, so I agreed. I started training at the age of eleven, and I was chief research specialist by the time I was sixteen." Her voice cracked, "But then I found out that Jack had lied to me. He said my parents died because of an alien bombing. But they died because of a shifter. _A shifter._ I couldn't believe that there were _demons_ and _werewolves_ and _vampires_ and I just… I had to leave. So I did. I was furious; I stormed out and basically lived on my own for the next few years… I did a ton of things that I'm not proud of…I … partied and hung out with the wrong kinds of people… I still hunted demons and aliens, though. You know some of it; you met me when I was on my own. And you told me to go back. So I did, right after my twenty-first birthday. And… now I'm here and I met Cas once I went back to Torchwood and I sort of _complained_ to him all the time about my life and he was really sweet… and we started dating and it was wonderful and… now he's gay and…" She burst out angrily, "I just cannot believe that he didn't _tell_ me before now! I thought we might…" She rubbed her eyes and I figured it out. Why she was so upset.

She thought they were going to get married. She wanted to marry Castiel. Who was gay. Or at least bisexual. Actually… he probably didn't _have_ a sexually orientation. I mentally shook my head to clear it. I'd think about that more later. For right now, Erin was staring at me desperately, yearning for a bit of comfort. I looked at her, willing myself to not show the pity I had for her. I knew on a personal level that pity was not comforting; it made you feel ashamed. So I tried to arrange my face into a somewhat sympathetic look. I hesitantly reached out and touched her shoulder; the first time I had willingly touched someone for over three and a half years.

"Erin," I said, "I'm not very good at giving words of comfort or wisdom, but I can tell you something that an author I like said once; 'Expect trouble as an inevitable part of life and repeat to yourself, the most comforting words of all; this, too, shall pass'." I bit my lip, but she was just staring at me. I didn't know what else to say.

"Sara," she said after a moment.

"Yeah?" I replied nervously, withdrawing my hand from her shoulder. I had no idea what to expect.

She said, "That was comforting. But I came here to talk to you, not an author."

I bit my lip harder. Crap. "Well," I said slowly, "I guess… What I'd say…" I rubbed my face. What in the world could I possibly say to her? "…is that the difference between stumbling blocks and stepping stones is how you use them."

"What?" she said, looking surprised and teary-eyed.

"Take this," I said, feeling slightly apprehensive, "And –"

"Don't say 'learn from it'," she snarled.

"Uhm," I said intelligently, "I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say, 'take this to heart and understand you haven't done anything wrong'."

"Oh," she said, wilting a little bit.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound upbeat, "Erin, it's hard to lose someone you love, but –"

"And what," She hissed heart-broken and angry, "Would you know about that?"

I was silent a minute, watching her glare at me. Finally, I relayed calmly, "My mother died in a house fire on March 12th, my half-birthday, and my father shot himself three weeks later. I was raped when I was twelve and had a son who died of leukemia when I was seventeen." Her mouth dropped in surprise, and another tear dropped down her cheek. I continued in pained voice that I tried to coat with slight indifference, "I've lost people, Erin. I know that it's hard and it seems like there won't be a way to climb out of the hole you've dropped into, but it'll get better if you give yourself the chance. But _only_ if you give yourself a chance."

"Sara, I'm sorry; I didn't mean –" she tried to apologize, but I shook my head and stood up.

"Please," I said quietly, "Don't play me a sympathy symphony. I've heard enough of them to last a lifetime. Just know that I understand what you're going through in terms of loss. And I'll be in the kitchen if you want to talk some more." I patted her shoulder gingerly as I walked out of the room. I thought about what I had just said to her on my way to the kitchen; _the difference between stumbling blocks and stepping stones is how you use them._

Hm.

Maybe it was time to stop stumbling and start stepping.


	19. Cody Get the Fuck Away I Swear to God

I never made it to the kitchen.

I was so lost in thought that when I rounded a corner, I ran straight into someone, and I nearly fell over. Before I fell, I felt a hand grab my arm and steady me. "Thanks," I started to say, looking up, but I froze. Male.

"Whoa, there," he said, his voice deep and soft. I was on guard. No, no, nope. Not another guy. How come there were so many guys around? It seemed like Erin and I were the only females at the base (we were, I learned later. That didn't really make me feel any better, but at least I had the knowledge).

"Thanks," I managed to say without screaming in terror. I gently pried my arm out of his grasp and I nervously added, "Sorry."

"That's okay," he replied generously, "You looked pretty deep in thought." He looked at me a minute, and his eyebrow raised. I tensed. Oh, God. Was he checking me out? I hated when random people did that., You know, ever since my hair had gotten really long, more and more guys would look at me as I walked down the street, and that made me really uncomfortable. "Are you new?" is what this guy asked me instead.

Okay, so that didn't make me feel completely better, but it helped me relax a little bit. I found my voice and said, "Yeah. I got here about a month and a half ago."

"Oh, my God!" he said jubilantly, "You're the one that cooks everything!"

"Uhm," I stuttered, caught off guard, "Yeah?"

The face he made next was one that I cannot begin to successfully describe. It was so excited and wistful and happy but it was also sort of funny; one of his eyebrows shot up while the other sank down and his mouth opened into a smile and he grinned at me, looking really thankful. It was weird.

"Uh, I'm Cody," he said, holding his hand out for me to shake it.

I didn't take his hand but replied politely, "I'm Sarah."

He lowered his hand and nodded, "Yeah, I know. I've heard." He grinned and clarified, "Sam won't shut up about you. And to be honest, neither will Jack or anyone else who's met you, really."

"What? Why?" I asked before I could stop myself.

"Because you're a genius," Cody replied. I narrowed my eyes confusedly at him and he continued, "You make all these weird gadgets for Jack in almost no time at all and never talk and when you do talk it's with a really quiet voice but whoever talks to you notices right away you've got backbone and you're really intelligent you make really good food all the time and –" He shrugged, "You're mysterious. Of course people talk about you."

I raised an eyebrow at him and said in I guess what others thought was a quiet voice, "Mysterious?"

He nodded earnestly and informed me, "Yeah. No one knows anything about you except that you're name is Sara Mϋller and that you're twenty and that you're good at breaking noses."

I winced. What a great thing to be known for. "Right," I replied evasively, "Well, you can tell these other people that I don't mean to be mysterious. I just don't like people."

"You don't like people?" he asked surprised.

"Uh," I winced, "No. I don't."

"Well that's interesting," he mused, "Why not?"

"Because they're too inquisitive for me," I replied primly, looking around him.

I just wanted to get to the kitchen to make dinner, was that so much to ask?

Apparently, because Cody kept on talking.

"You know, Jim from IT thinks you might be mute."

"Hm," was my reply.

"I mean, obviously you're not, because you've been talking to me. And Sam and Dean said that you can be pretty straight forward and sassy when you want to be," Cody grinned.

Sassy? That was the first time anyone had ever called me that and I think it was probably the first time I had ever heard the word in real life and I had no idea what it meant. I mentally took it into the context Cody had just used and figured it meant that Sam and Dean said I was blunt. I am proud to say I learned I was not far off when I Googled the word later that day.

The next thing Cody said startled me. He informed me, "Actually, you're voice is really nice. It's fairly melodic, soft and sweet. But it's firm. I bet you could get anyone to do anything for you." He was flirting with me. Nice.

I replied, "Could I get you to move out of the way so I can go make dinner, please?" I don't know why, but Cody laughed. If I wasn't so desperate to go make dinner, I probably would have cringed. There they went again, people thinking I'm funny when I wasn't trying to be.

"Sure," Cody laughed, "Nice to meet you, Sara." Cody walked around me, down the hall, still chuckling.

I just didn't understand. Why were people so interested in talking to me? I wasn't remotely funny. I was sort of screwed up, actually. Although, people didn't know that because I didn't talk to them.

It was a conundrum that I didn't think I'd ever solve.


	20. An Inevitable Emotional Breakdown

I think I forgot to mention that I went to church. It was a small one, about fifteen minutes away from base. There was one a lot closer than that, but the one I went to was tiny and didn't have a lot of people, and most of them were older, so that was okay. I liked it a lot, especially because I got to sing. I really liked to sing. I never got to around the base, because people would hear me and I couldn't let them hear me sing. As I went to church more and more, I was able to pick out my favorite hymns we would sing. My favorite one was called _Praise to the Lord._ I really loved the tune, and the words were just something I could not get past;

 _Praise to the Lord, O let all that is in me adore Him!  
All that hath life and breath, come now with praises before Him.  
Let the Amen sound from His people again,  
Gladly forever adore Him._

It was a small comfort in my life of utter terror and uncertainty and confusion. I'd sing it mentally when I needed to calm down.

December rolled around, and it started snowing. I liked to watch it snow from the kitchen window; the huge, fluffy flakes gently twirling to the ground, blanketing the world in white. It was nice. And, as I'm sure you know, December rolling around meant that Christmas did, too.

I was really nervous and uncertain; should I get people gifts? No, I finally decided. I cooked every single meal for them and so. No.

Oh, by the way, did I ever mention that Torchwood paid me? Yeah, I was sort of surprised the first day Jack popped in the room and handed me a check. It was really confusing. I argued with him briefly about how I was being given a place to live and keep safe; the least I could do was to work and cook. But Jack was insistent that he had to pay. He said that Torchwood was a government-affiliated establishment, and so I should just accept the money and deal with it.

I was working for the government. Great. That was slightly ironic.

I was super surprised when I looked at the sum of what the check was. After some calculations, I figured out I was getting paid _seven hundred fifty dollars_ a _week_. _A week._ That was a ton of money. And I had no idea what to do with it. I had never, ever had a lot of money. I mean, I had gotten money from my old house, but there wasn't a lot. I mean, there was, but the sum had started to dwindle after a while. But now I had way more money that I could ever do anything with.

So Christmas Eve rolled around, and I spent a majority of the day in the kitchen. I locked the door, not letting anyone in, leaving a huge hamper outside in the hall, full of sandwiches and other food that the people at base could eat for lunch. I cooked a huge ham for the main dish, and then this really delicious sweet potato side dish that you topped with marshmallows before sticking it in the oven, and another side dish that was literally just crushed pineapple, chunks of bread, butter, and sugar. It was really bad for you, but it was Christmas. I also made your other 'generic' holiday foods; mashed potatoes, peas, gravy, etc. I found a few bottles of wine in one of the cabinets, and brought those out. I set the table really nicely and placed all the food on the table at 5:50pm. Dinner was always at six, and I wanted to get out of there before anyone came in. I quickly wrote a small message on a sticky note and stuck it to the fridge. It said, " _Be back tomorrow evening. Sorry I won't be around to make dinner tomorrow. There's plenty of extra food that I made in the fridge. Merry Christmas. –Sara_ "

I ran to my room, thankfully seeing no one, and I threw some clothes and blankets into a duffel bag. I reached into my top dresser drawer and withdrew a Kleenex box, which was secretly where I kept my money. I wasn't afraid of a break-in, obviously, or anyone stealing my money, it was just instinct. I only kept a few hundred dollars in the Kleenex box, so it wasn't that big of a deal if I was robbed, which I wasn't going to be. I _had_ made a little over nine thousand at that point, so I wasn't concerned.

Anyways, I withdrew about two hundred fifty dollars from my Kleenex box and shoved that in the side pocket of my duffel. Slinging said duffel over my shoulder, I grabbed my gun from my bedside table drawer, along with a silver knife and a rosary .No, I was not Catholic. I had a rosary so that I could bless some water in case I ran into some demons on my escapade.

Where was I going? You'll find out.

I ran out to my truck, by duffel bag thumping against my back. I wasn't… excited, exactly, but I was certainly elated. I threw open the door on the driver's side of my truck, and I hopped in, tossing my duffel bag into the passenger's seat. I turned the key in the ignition, and pulled off the curb, and I was on my way to Salem, Ohio.

I was going to see my son for Christmas.

The drive from Boston, Massachusetts to Salem, Ohio is a ten-hour drive, so obviously I had a lot of time on my hands to think. Ever since I had talked to Erin back in November, the words I had offered her as advice hadn't stopped pounding through my head; _the difference between stumbling blocks and stepping stones is how you use them. The difference between stumbling blocks and stepping stones is how you use them._

The difference between stumbling blocks and stepping stones is how you use them. It was definitely a true statement. I realized within two hours that I had been using _every_ step in my life as a stumbling block. Recently, I had still been faltering awkwardly, but I had regained enough of my ground that I was no longer falling. However I _was_ still faltering and I knew I needed to work on that. The problem was, I had no idea of how to fix that. I spent the next eight hours – yes, the next eight - to try and convince myself that when I went back I would start talking to people. I had been at the Torchwood base for over two months at that point, and I knew that I should at least try to be sociable once in a while.

"It's not good for me to be so quiet," I mused to the empty passenger's seat.

Small side note: I talked to my soul mate. Yes, I know; I hadn't _met_ him, I didn't know who he was or literally anything about him, but I liked talking to him. A lot. I did at night, in the darkness of my room. I told him quietly about what I had done that day, what I was going to do the next, what was bothering me, my thoughts, hopes, fears, everything. He was the only one I trusted. And I hadn't even met him. Honestly? I think I loved him. I didn't have a picture in my head of what he looked like, how he acted, what he looked like; I just knew that he was going to love me. He was going to love me for me; not for what I had been or what I had done or what I was going to become. He was going to look at the 5'6" woman that was me, and love me. He was going to play with my long brown hair that was as thin and straight as straw when I talked with him. He'd hold my hand when we took walks in the park. He was going to love me for the person I was. I imagined him holding me at night, my head resting on his shoulder while his head rested on top of mine, his arm wrapped around my waist, and our fingers entwining. Falling asleep, feeling protected. The thought was so comforting. The most reassuring thing of all, though, wasn't any of those thoughts. No, the best thing of all was if I could love someone _that much_ that I hadn't even met, I could only imagine how much more I was going to love him when I finally did.

I talked to him for a long time on the drive to Salem. I talked to him about my Torchwood life. I mean, he _did_ know all about it already, but I got deeper than I usually did. I especially brought up Sam a lot. Should I talk to him? Was I supposed to give him a chance? But I was terrified of him; how was I supposed to try to be his friend, especially when it seemed that his goal was set much higher than that? I didn't know. And my soul mate had no answers, either, which was to be expected. That's another thing that bothered me; how was I supposed to find my soul mate when I was stuck at Torchwood?

I finally arrived at Grandview Cemetery at four in the morning. Yeah, it was a long haul, but I had made it. I stumbled up and down a hill, following an internally well-trodden path to where Danny's grave was. I collapsed by his grave when I reached it. I didn't cry, I didn't sob. I just lay there, on the cold, lightly frosted ground, staring up at the sky, my breath coming out in little puffs. As my breathing slowed, I was able to focus upon the stars above me. They twinkled in the crisp, cold air and gently bathed my face with their sparkling light. As I lay there, I talked to Danny.

"Hi, sweetie. Merry Christmas," I began, "It's been awhile hasn't it? Almost two years, isn't that crazy? It is. I've changed a lot. My hair is a lot longer now! I have hair! Isn't that strange? I thought I should just let it grow really long because you told me that once you got better I should grow it out like a princess. So that's what I'm doing; because you're with Jesus and you're all better." I bit my lip and took an even breath and continued, "I wish you could see the starts tonight, buddy. They're really beautiful. They remind me of you a lot. They're blue and yellow and wispy, just like you. The sky is that really dark, deep blue that you loved, and it seems to just go on forever and ever. I can see all the stars, sweetheart, except for one. I can't see you. But I can picture you. I miss your laugh. It was the best sound I've ever heard. You were the funniest, smartest, most wonderful boy. You are the most amazing thing to ever happen to me, Danny. And I…" My voice caught in my throat a moment before I managed to say softly, "I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry that you couldn't be an astronaut. I am so sorry that you lived your entire life in the hospital; that you ever once got to go outside, that the only fresh air you ever breathed was the week before you fell into a coma, when Nurse Julie secretly let us open the window. You said the air smelled like the sky, and that broke my heart. You never got to see the stars without a pane of glass blocking your view. You never got to feel what grass is like. All you knew what the feeling of the hard ground under your socks. And I am so sorry." I bit my lip, holding in my tears. I was silent for a while, until I had regained my composure and then finally decided I had to tell him. I had to, or else I would never, ever forgive myself. I knew that he wasn't going to hear me; that he was up in heaven, laughing with his golden curls trembling while his little shoulders shook with giggle. But I had to say it.

"You know, I was thinking on my drive up here that I should tell you something." I rolled over and stared at the ground where he was buried and I whispered, "I love you more than I've ever loved anyone or anything. I loved you more than myself, and I still do. Daniel, you weren't my brother. You were my son. You were my son, my baby boy. And my real name is Sara, Danny, not Eden, not DenDen. It's Sara." I took a deep breath and said, "But you were Daniel Elijah Parker, no questions asked. You are the only person in my life who I loved with every fiber of my being, and when you died,…" I gulped for air and continued, tears blurring my vision in the unyielding darkness, "…And when you died, I did, too. I did some awful things, Danny. Some terrible, awful things that I never would have done if I still had you. You were the glue that held me together, and you were the love that I needed so I could bend without breaking." I wilted to the ground, laying my face against the unforgiving earth, right over where Danny's head was, six feet under. "I'm sorry I never told you. I really, really wish I had. But you were so young and so was I… I thought it was better to pretend to be someone I wasn't to keep you safe." I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to cry. "But I couldn't keep you safe, baby. And I'm so, so sorry. I couldn't save you from the bad guys."

I paused a moment and then, stroking the stiff, cold, dead grass under my fingertips, I quietly sang, my voice thick and stilted with emotion; " _You were my sunshine my only sunshine, You made me happy when skies were grey, You never knew dear how much I loved you, Then God took my sunshine away. The other night dear as I lay sleeping_ _,_ _I dreamed that you were by my side, when I awoke dear I was mistaken, and I hung my head and cried._ _You were my sunshine my only sunshine, you made me happy when skies were grey, you never knew dear how much I loved you, my sunshine was taken away."_ I stopped singing for almost five minutes, my throat constricted with tears and pain. I sobbed quietly; by breathing ragged as I felt the loss and the loneliness I have been pushing down finally well up inside of me after so long. I choked on my tears, my pain, and my sadness. Finally, I gasped in earnest, tears still streaming down my cheeks, " _I'll always love you. Wish… I could make you happy, if you had only stayed the same, but you left me, now you're with Jesus, I know I'll see you again someday."_ Heaving one last shuddering breath, I murmured, " _You were my sunshine my only sunshine, you made me happy all the day_ _,_ _and now you know dear, how much I love you, and… I miss my sunshine every day._ "

I sniffled and wept quietly for a long while, I was so, so tired and lonely and cold. I didn't want to do anything except to just lay there until the end of time, until I could finally get to see my baby boy again. But I knew I had to get up. The sun was rising, and I had to leave before they opened the cemetery for the day. I pulled myself up off the cold ground. I stiffly stood up before bending over and pressing my lips to the cold, hard marble of Danny's headstone. Turning away, I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. I trudged back to my truck, which was parked safely outside of the cemetery, and I climbed in the driver's side, and fell asleep, tears still leaking down my face.

I woke up a few hours later, around 10am. I slowly rubbed my stiff neck, and glanced around. There was no one, just as I suspected. It was Christmas. I cracked my back, stretching, and dug through my duffel, looking for some food. I pulled out a box of breakfast bars. Unwrapping one, I threw the box aside, then ate, trying to loosen the crick in my neck. When I finished, I slowly climbed out of my truck, and walked back over to Danny's grave. I kneeled down and stroked the marble, a cold, sorry replacement for my warm and soft son, the light of my life. I whispered, "Mommy loves you, Danny. She's proud of you. I just hope that you would be proud of me, too." I pressed my lips to his gravestone, shedding no tears.

As I drove away, I felt the weight on my shoulders lessen, knowing that I was leaving my worries with the one person I trusted most in the world;

My Danny.


	21. Dammit Dean

My welcome back to base was not, well, welcoming. But I'll get to that in a minute.

Anyway, I drove back home – or, well, to the Torchwood base – and I felt almost a peace. I mean, I wasn't quite _at peace_ , having just left the grave of my dead four-year-old son behind, but I felt better. I hummed _Praise to the Lord_ most of the way, my windows rolled down with the heat on high – yes, like the Carrie Underwood song.

I arrived back at the base about 9pm, which I thought was good because a lot of the time the guys just hung out in the 'living room' for most of the evening. The door to the living room wasn't anywhere near the front door. Or well, it was, but by the time the sound waves of me opening and closing the front door reverberated in their eardrums, I'd be more than halfway to my room, so I would be able to get in with no trouble. Huh. _Living room._ I don't know why people call them 'living' rooms, because if you _live_ in a house every room is a living room, but I digress. I, personally, called it the TV room because that's where the TV was. It was a lot more logical.

I walked up to the door, and unlocked it. I rubbed my face tiredly as I walked inside and – was doused with a bucket of water. Frozen from shock, I blinked water out of my eyes and was able to get a good look at who had just dumped water on me. It was Dean. Figured. I spluttered a moment and Dean looked surprised and he said, "Oh. It's you."

I set my duffel bag down and swept my hair out of my face, shivering. "Merry Christmas to you, too," I said sarcastic. I wrung out my hair, and a cascade of water splashed to the floor.

"Whoa," Dean said, looking somewhat awed, "That was awesome."

I gave him a funny look. _Talk. You talk to him even though you want to pass out._ "Thanks. I think," I replied.

"Sorry for dousing you. I thought…" he started to explain, but trailed off as Sam came in.

"You okay?" Sam asked me concernedly. No. I was about ten seconds before he asked me. Now I was nowhere near okay. My heart started racing and I started sweating awfully, which was thankfully not noticeable because I was still dripping wet from Dean drenching me.

"I'm… fine," I managed, "Dean thought I was a demon."

"No, I didn't," Dean corrected me, "I thought you were Sam."

"Because we look so much alike," I drawled sarcastically, picking up my duffel bag. Sam let out a surprised laugh and I started to talk down the hall when Dean grabbed my arm. Instinctively, I dropped my duffel bag and twisted around, his hand still clasping my wrist. I shoved him hard against the wall, his arm pinned to his chest by my right hand, and his right shoulder pinned by my left hand. He looked surprised and I automatically stepped away, my hands flying up in front of me, like a defense position. "Sorry," I apologized meekly, "Sorry. Instinct. Sorry."

Dean's mouth was open slightly in surprise and Sam looked interested. "Dude," he directed at Dean, "Someone half a foot shorter than you just pinned you against a wall."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Yeah, well she surprised me, Sammy. It's okay, Sara," he added. I nodded uncertainly, wanting to leave but Dean asked me, "Where'd you go?"

Caught off-guard (that seemed to happen to me a lot with those two), I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion and inquired, "What do you mean?"

"You just up-and-left yesterday. It's Christmas," Dean explained.

"Oh," I said, "I went to go visit someone."

Sam's eyebrows contracted a bit and he asked, "Who?"

"It doesn't really matter," I answered levelly, "He's been dead for a while."

"Oh," Dean responded looking at me somewhat understanding. Sam however, didn't seem to find that a good enough answer, because he asked,

"Who?" Dean shoved him slightly, but I answered anyways, flatly;

"It was Daniel. My brother." My heart seared as I called him 'brother', because that was wrong, so wrong. But I just couldn't tell these two that I had had a son. So I left it at that.

Dean's eyes widened and Sam's mouth dropped open a little bit. Before either of them could say anything, I said, "Have a good evening, Dean, Sam; Merry Christmas."

I didn't speak for the next five days, feeling the emptiness like a dagger; whittling a hole in my heart that was even deeper than the one I already had.


	22. I Give A Super Lame Speech

It was New Year's Eve, about 8pm. I was in the GD, as always, working on a bomb that Jack needed. I mean, usually, it would have been an easy job, except for the fact that he needed the demolition range to had an _exact_ radius of 28 feet; no more, no less, so there were a lot of calculations I had to figure, considering the bomb could be no larger than a golf ball, and it _had_ to detonate _exactly_ five seconds after the detonator was pushed, in the form of a button _on_ the actually bomb. The requirements were so ridiculous that I didn't even ask what Jack needed it for. I had just about got it correct when the door to the department was knocked up on any gently opened. Guess who it was? Sam. Big surprise there.

Okay, I've realized that I've been sounding like his presence exasperated me, which it did, but not in the way that you think. I was simply _confused_ on what I thought about him. However, I did not find him, himself, exasperating. I found my confusion about how I felt about him exasperating, which is why I seemed so exasperated whenever he talked to me; because I _was,_ it just wasn't his fault. There, got that cleared up for you.

"Hello," I acknowledged him politely, "Can I help you with something?" Look at me; I was actually initiating a conversation. It was the first conversation I think I had ever started by myself. I was pretty proud of myself. I mean, I was internally panicking, for sure, but I was fairly certain I was hiding that small detail pretty well.

Shifting his weight, Sam said quietly, "I just figured you might want some company. And I was… sort of worried."

I scoffed quietly, "Worried. You don't need to be worried about me. Thank you, but I'm fine."

Sitting down across the table from me, Sam told me, "Well, I'm bored; the party is pretty lame. And you're interesting. I'd much rather spend time with you."

"Oh," I replied, nervously fiddling with the bomb in my hand, "Uh… that's not true. I'm sort of boring, actually." I bit my lip, trying to keep calm.

Sam noticed instantaneously and said worriedly, "Hey, calm down. If you want me to leave, I will."

 _Yes, please,_ was the reply that I wanted to say, the thought that was thrumming in my mind, _leave, please, just leave._ "I'm sorry," I shook my head, taking a deep breath, "I'm just… not… good with… people. At all." I glanced down the small bomb in my hands, turning it over and over with anxiety.

"Hey, that's okay," Sam said with a soft smile, "It's fine." I nodded my thanks, still looking down at the bomb, still turning it over in my hands, but now it was in concentration. Perhaps if I just… I cracked open the shell gingerly and switched a wire or two, feeling frustrated. Alien technology was confusing, as hard as it was for me to admit it to myself. I frowned slightly and fiddled with the bomb for another minute or so before Sam hesitantly asked, "What is that?"

Gadgets. I could talk about gadgets. I could do that. That wasn't personal. Matter-of-factly, I informed him, "It's a bomb."

"What?" Sam sounded alarmed, "But…" He paused and collected himself and corrected himself, "Wow. That's… seriously impressive.

"Thanks," I replied, still fiddling.

Moving a bit closer to me across the table, Sam asked, "How does it work?"

"Well," I informed him, tensing slightly as he leaned forward, "You push this," indicating a small indent on the tube-like bomb that was the detonator button, "and then you have exactly five seconds before it detonates and takes out everything within a 28 foot radius."

Sam nodded in fascination and told me, "That's just really cool."

"Thanks," I said frowning at the bomb slightly, "I've made five prototypes today but none of them have…" I trailed off as my eyes lit up. I broke upon the shell again, biting my lip in concentration. After fiddling with a small piece in the middle, I closed the shell again. 'There," I sighed under my breath. I smile a bit. Maybe, just to show Sam that I had the ability to kill him if I wanted, I should detonate it. Hm.

Yeah, I was gonna do it. Without saying another word, I pressed the small indent on the tube and Sam squeaked – yes, _squeaked_ – and I chucked the bomb clear across the room. It cracked the wall upon impact, and then came the explosion. It was perfect. The blast was powerful, but it only demolished the desks that were 28 feet _exactly_ away from the bomb. And the bomb had detonated exactly _five_ seconds after I had pressed the detonator. I smile softly in satisfaction and noticed Sam was watching me with astonished eyes. I raised an eyebrow at him and he looked at a loss for words for a moment. Finally, he said, "That… was… awesome. Where'd you learn to build stuff like that?"

I wasn't looking at him anymore; I had sat back down and was writing down what I changed in the last prototype. I answered vaguely, "Hm? Oh, I didn't really _learn_ how to anywhere. I read a book about nuclear physics when I was… uh, fifteen, I think." I continued scribbling. And there was silence for a long time. Eventually I looked up, and saw that Sam's jaw was dropped open, and he was gaping at me skeptically. "Hm?" I hummed questioningly. Oh, my gosh. I just realized. I was talking to Sam Winchester. Actually talking to him. And… it was … sort of nice.

"I just…" he tried, "I can't… wow."

I shrugged and explained, "I had a lot of time on my hands."

Sam leaned forward and asked, "Because you were in the hospital with your brother?"

Okay, if was fine talking to him, but he had suddenly gotten entirely too closes to me. Self-consciously, I nodded, hesitant and replied slowly, "Yeah. Something like that."

Intrigued, Sam asked curiously, "Where'd you go to school?"

I deadpanned to show him I was serious, "I have never stepped foot in a school in my entire life."

Looking impressed, Sam wheedled, "So, your parents…?" He trailed off, looking a bit like an eager puppy, making me sigh softly in exasperation.

"My parents," I told him tentatively, "Homeschooled me until I was almost seven. They taught me the basics; reading, writing, algebra, trigonometry, biology, chemistry…" I trailed off and shrugged.

"Algebra, trig, bio and chem? By the time you were seven?" He scoffed.

I nodded, confused, "Uh, yes. I know I was home-schooled, but I thought I had a fairly good education. I didn't realize that wasn't up to standards of public or private schooling."

" _Up to standards_?" He asked incredulously, "No. It's not _up to standards._ " I could feel my cheeks blushing in embarrassment, but he added, "It's like, way beyond standards. I learned algebra, chem, bio and trig in _high school_. God, I feel stupid," he ended with a mutter.

"Oh," was all I could reply. I was dwindling to the end of my social rope. I was getting tired and I could feel the restraint I had on my anxiety weakening.

"Whatever," he brushed himself off, "What'd you do after your parents?"

"I… ah…" I winced, "Well… After that, I sort of… taught myself because they both died."

Sam winced as well and his voice softened as he sadly apologized, "Oh, I'm sorry. Mine died, too."

I nodded, and whispered, "Yeah. I'm sorry about that." There was a few minutes' silence where I contemplated whether to continue talking with Sam or no. The thing was, I _was_ really uneasy and nervous about talking to him, but the more I talked to other people, the more I realized I craved for friendship, just for someone to talk to. Biting my lip and frowning down at the desk, I thought about what I should do when I suddenly felt Sam take my hand and I flinched away from him, squeezing my eyes shut, my heart pounding.

Sam's voice sounded startled and embarrassed and a little concerned, "Oh… I'm…"

I opened my eyes, blushing slightly and looked into the face of this boy who looked lost and confused, and almost ashamed. I managed to say gently, shaking my head, trying to make him understand, "No… it's not that… it's not that…." I sighed in frustration. I had no idea what to tell him, how to make him understand in a few simple phrases. Finally, I said, feeling as though what I was about to saw was incompetent in truly explaining my situation, "It's not you. I… like I said earlier… I'm not good with people."

"Why is that?" Sam asked quietly, tilting his head, wondering.

I looked at the ground, wondering how much I should tell him. I decided to say the following; "All the people that I knew before I was brought here – except one – have given me plenty of reasons not to trust others."

"Except one," he repeated as a question.

"Yeah," I replied, looking away from him, "It was Daniel." I said softly, "I should really go." I was almost to the door when Sam called out,

"Sarah! Wait!"

I bit my lip again as I whirled back around, nervous, "Hm?"

"I'm… I'm sorry," Sam apologized sadly, "I don't know what I did, but please don't run off."

"You didn't do anything, Sam," I told him quietly, "It's kind of what I did to myself. I promise, you really, really do not want to get to know me. It will only hurt you. I'm sorry." I spun around and walked down the hall, hugging myself, leaving behind a very confused Sam.

I am not going to lie. When I got back to my room I cried. I did. I cried a lot. I was sad, yes, but I was also confused and lonely and longing for a friend. But who I longed for the most was not a friend, it wasn't someone to talk to, it wasn't even Danny; I just wanted my mom. My mom, with her soft, sweet smile and long chocolate brown hair. My mom, who had the kindest eyes that I've ever seen. My mom, who could wrap you in a hug that made you forget all your troubles. Who could kiss your forehead and tell you that everything was going to be alright, and you would believe her. My mom, who loved me more than anything. My mom. My protector. I needed someone to hug me and tell me that it would be okay. That everything happens. That I was strong enough to use my stumbling blocks as stepping stones. That she believed in me. But I didn't have my mom around to tell me any of that, so I had to find comfort in the pillow on my bed, in the light green walls of the room, in my pile of books over in the corner. In others. Could I do that? Was I strong enough to entrust myself to others? I didn't know, but maybe it was time to start trying.

So I tried. I really did. I tried. Around 10 that evening I went out into the _living_ room, where the party was. I kind of just slipped in, no one noticing me. I sat myself down on a couch over in the corner and glanced around, somewhat warily. The _living_ room was pretty big, with a huge flat screen TV at one end (hence, why I called it the 'TV room', not the _living_ room) surrounded by a cluster of squishy couches. There was a ping-pong table in the middle, which was currently laden with plates of food that I had made the day before, and also bottles of soda and beer and take-out pizzas. About fifteen or so people were milling about, although a majority of them were sitting on the couches on the opposite end of the room from where I was, watching some movie about a kid called Harry, I think. (I later learned they were having a Harry Potter marathon, but I had never seen or heard of Harry Potter, so I had no idea what was going on).

Anyways, like I said, no one had noticed I came in. I didn't really see Erin anywhere, which I guess was okay, because I hadn't really talked to her since that one night back in November. I was assuming she was avoiding Dean and Cas, who were locked in a passionate embrace over in the corner. Jack and his boyfriend Ianto were also making out on one of the couches on the other side of the room, and the rest of the people – about ten – were watching that movie, like I said before.

That was fine with me; I had brought a book along with me that I needed to read so I could successfully complete my next project for Jack. I settled in amongst the pillows on the couches and started reading. Well, I tried reading. I had noticed Sam over on the one of the couches, and I think _he_ may have seen me come in, because when I sat down, his head turned slightly. After a few minutes, he got up and I peripherally noticed him smiling softly, somewhat in relief, and he hesitantly made his way over to me. I went back to my book, fairly certain he hadn't noticed me glancing at him. I tried to become absorbed in the scientific explanations of hypothermaics. I jotted down some notes in the margins while I heard Sam take a seat on a couch opposite from where I was sitting. After a moment, I heard him slide something across the coffee table towards me and I glanced up in surprise. It was a glass of pop, I think. I never ended up drinking it, so I didn't find out. I never drank pop anyways; just milk and coffee and a lot of water. It was nice of him though, so I said in a small voice, "Thank you."

He replied with, "You're welcome," as I glanced back down at my book. I know it was sort of rude to do that, but I was nervous. It was like the first line from 'Sonnet 18' by Shakespeare; " _Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"_ I could definitely compare Sam Winchester to a summer's day; he made me sweaty and uncomfortable. That's how I was feeling right then. I tried to get myself absorbed in the explanation of water-to-temperature ratios, but I after a moment, I gave a frustrated sigh and tossed the book next to me on the couch. Sam leaned forward a little bit to get a look at the title.

After a moment, he grinned at me, "' _Relative Theories of Hydrothermaic Nuclear Reactors and Their Components'_? Got big plans to build a nuclear reactor?"

I looked at my hands, shrugged, and said nonchalantly, "Not a big one. It needs to be able to have it power adjusted by supernatural temperatures and be able to be detonated with holy water."

The way he blinked in such a way that I knew he had no idea what I was talking about. Also, the way he replied, "Okay…" afterwards was a giveaway, too.

I quietly mused, "The book is sort of frustrating because it's all about _theories_ and not basic _facts_ and when you couple that with the supernatural, it can be a bit complex."

Nodding in mock understanding, Sam agreed, "Oh, I'm sure."

I glanced up at him, my forehead wrinkling in question. I asked somewhat suspiciously, "Are you mocking me?"

"No!" Sam reassured me hurriedly, "Not at all!"

"Kay," said slowly, giving him a calculating look for a moment before nodding, "Okay." I paused and added, "I can stop talking, if you want," because I had noticed Dean and Cas had stopped kissing on the other side of the room and Dean was watching us interestedly.

Sam sort of glared over at Dean as if to silently say, ' _Back off'_ , and then he turned his attention back to me and shook his head before saying, "No, don't. I like talking to you." Self-conscious of Dean's watchful gaze, I nodded slightly, saying nothing. "Ignore him," Sam said glaring at Dean, "He's an asshat."

I had no idea what that was. "Okay." Sam looked at me and sighed wearily. A flag went up in my mind; what had I done? I internally struggled a moment, trying to decipher what his sigh meant. Perhaps he didn't want to talk to me anymore, but that didn't make sense, because he was the one that initiated the conversation. Finally, I gave up and somewhat unwillingly asked without looking at Sam, "What is it?"

"I'm just…" Sam said, biting his lip, "Trying to understand…"

Oh, no. Nope. Warily, I asked, "Understand what?"

"You," he replied softly.

Great. "Me," I restated, in a tone of voice that implied he was crazy.

"You," Sam informed me, "are hard to understand."

"Thank you?" I replied, slightly unsure of how to respond to his statement.

Sam smile in a soft way, gently amused. He said matter-of-factly, "A little mystery is a good thing."

Shifting uncomfortably on the couch, I asked nervously, "What… what about me… are you trying to understand?" My androphobia was kicking in. Or maybe it was social anxiety. I wasn't sure if it was androphobia anymore. I could talk to men fine if I needed to, but it was just hard for me. I didn't know. I mean, I talked fine, so maybe it wasn't social anxiety, either. I think maybe I had trust issues. I had trust issues. Okay. Let's leave it at that.

"Hey," Sam said softly, "You don't need to freak out. I'm just trying to understand who you are and why."

"Uh," I said nervously intelligent, "Okay. I guess."

"Is there anything you'd be okay with telling me?" He asked gently.

Uh, no, not really, Sam. I hated talking about myself. I was sort of the opposite on an egocentric person; I mean, I hated, _hated_ talking about myself. I took a deep breath, thinking. I held my it for ten seconds, then all at once I blurted softly, "I was never supposed to have been born." I bit my lip and exhaled, looking away.

There was a silence for a moment before Sam told me quietly, "It would have been better for the world if I had never been born."

My hands curled into loose fists on my lap. No, he didn't understand. He had a purpose. I had been given information of all the things he and Dean had done; the people they had saved, what they had defeated. I gave him a calculating stare and said super quietly, nervously, "That's – not true. I know. I…" I hesitated and looked away again before continuing, "I… uh… was asked to log everything you and Dean have hunted; the people you've saved." Desperately sad, I tried to make him understand, "You've… literally saved thousands of people. You and your brother… are unsung heroes. You're here because you're supposed to be here; you have a _purpose_." I sighed down at my hands.

I could hear the smile in Sam's voice when he said, "Thanks, Sara. And for the record, it's a good thing you were born, too."

Nope. He was about as wrong as anyone could ever get. Seriously, I informed him, "No, it wasn't. I said I wasn't supposed to have been born, and I meant it. I'm not supposed to exist."

I glanced up and saw he was staring at me. I glanced back down at my lap as Sam asked me, in a voice brimming with confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Well," I despondently said after a moment, "My father – wanted… to have kids more than anything. But my mother couldn't have any." I inhaled sharply before continuing, "So she made a deal with Azazel; if he gave her a baby – one human child – then he would be able to visit me when I was six and a half years old. He said he'd leave just as I was, not harm me in anyway; do nothing to change me at all. He just… wanted to see me. I don't know. So she agreed. She got pregnant, had me… and exactly six months after I turned six, she died." I paused, and bitterness flooding into my next words; "I'm not supposed to be here. I was born of a demon deal. My… very existence defies heaven."

Sam looked like he was very strongly resisting the urge to reach out and take my hand. I was gratified that he didn't; it made me trust him a little more. After a time, he told me, "I think… I think the thing that matters isn't how we're born or how we came into life. It's what we do with life. And you… you're on the right side. You're doing good with your life. And that's what matters." Sam ducked his head and said a little nervously, "I, for one, am glad that you're alive."

I laughed a little at that. He glanced up at me, looking slightly happy, like my laugh delighted him. I told him matter-of-factly, emotion wiped from my face, "Well, thank you, but you may be the only one that does."

Sam's eyes grew sad. Great. He looked like a puppy dog. He said softly, "I don't know how you can say that. Everyone here thinks you're great." I looked at him funnily. I was pretty certain that he was the only one who seemed to like me. He calculated my look of disbelief and he insisted, "No, really! Erin may act a little strange around you, but that's because…" He trailed off and I raised an eyebrow at him, so he continued, "Because you're really quiet and she's… well, not. She's up-front with people and you're very… calm." I looked even more confused at that. Some of the only conversations I had ever had involved me be sassy to the others (I had looked up the definition on and it defined the word 'sassy' as being 'impudent, vigorous, lively, and distinctively smart', which I guess was true. I was proud of learning that word.). Sam continued, "And Dean is always snarky with people. He's a huge idiot, but he really enjoys it when you talk back to him; you're really funny." _I was funny?_ "And he admires your strength. I do, too." What? "The way you yanked your hand out of that cuff without crying or uttering hardly a single word was amazing. You cut your wrist to the bone, right?" I nodded. I had to get stitches from that, so I gave them to myself. "And you stitched up your entire wrist in the med bay without wincing. It was… fantastic."

"Thanks, I guess," I replied with a look of confusion evident on my face, even to myself.

"And Cas… he's your guardian angel, right? He told us. He wouldn't be here if you weren't. That may seem like he's fulfilling an obligation, but he told Dean he's really interested in you and that he thinks you're wonderful. And," he finished, "this place wouldn't function without you."

"Sure it would," I countered him; "I don't do anything _necessary._ I cook, clean, invent things. I log people's information. Other people could easily do that." I took a deep breath, "But thank you. I appreciate you all letting me stay."

Sam retorted nicely, "But anyone else that could do your job wouldn't be you."

"I know," I informed him a little drily.

"And," he added, his cheeks coloring a little, "we all want you here."

I sighed a little bit, and then replied soft and hesitant, "Well, thanks. It's… sort of a nice change not to be sleeping in a tree or a car."

Sam nodded then looked over to where Cody and Erin were and he gestured to me and I looked. "There," he said, "Awkward sexual tension. Those two will get together. I bet you."

Without meaning to, I flinched when he said the word 'sexual' a shock of pain shooting up my back as I had a second-long flashback of being thrown to the ground in a dark alley, but I recovered fairly quickly, nodding in agreement. Sam noticed, however and asked me worried, "I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"

I shook my head and said quietly, "No. Don't worry about it." Sam looked like he wanted to say more, but just then the others started counting down from sixty. I looked at Sam, bewildered. "What are they doing?" I asked.

His eyebrows shot up and he smiled a bit, telling me, "They're counting down to the new year."

"Oh," I said. "That's a little strange."

"Is it?" he asked, smiling, genuinely amused by me, but not in a mean way.

I nodded, not giving him a further answer. I looked out the window, finding solace in the stars that sprinkled the night sky. I paused and asked, "I'm assuming they're all going to scream and whatever when they hit 'zero', right?" Sam nodded, and I bit my lip, bracing myself for an explosion of noise that came 14 seconds later. Yells of 'Wooo! 2010! Happy New Year!' filled the air and I flinched, my hands flying to my ears, my eardrums reverberating painfully. I noticed Sam watching me worriedly and I quickly removed my hands and set them in my lap.

"Are you okay?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes," I replied, trying to sound stoic, "I don't particularly care for loud noises."

"But you test bombs all day," Sam said, confused.

I shrugged, "I know. I'm a strange one."

Sam grinned and said, "That's fine. We're all strange here." He paused and said, "Happy New Year."

"Thank you," I said in a sincere but neutral tone, "You, too."

"So…" Sam started to say, but he trailed off. I looked away from the window to Sam, waiting for him to continue, so he did, "I could, walk you to your room, if you'd like. You look tired."

Oh, my gosh. No. That was one thing that was not going to happen. Nearly inaudible, I said, "Thank you, but…" I looked at my hands and somehow my voice got quieter; "I, um, sort have this problem where being alone with guys gives me, um, panic attacks. So… thank you, but…" I bit my lip, looking at the floor, my heart beating fast.

Sam nodded in understanding, thank God. "That's fine," he said, "Thank you for talking to me."

I stood up, leaving my book on the couch, and nodded, "You're welcome. Happy New Year." I walked out of the room and was about to continue down the hall when I heard Dean shove Sam out of the way and command, "Move out of the way, you bitch. I need to talk to you about Sara."

Did Dean just call Sam a bitch? That was sort of… strange. But he wanted to talk to Sam about me. No way was I leaving for that. I crept up to the doorframe, which was right by the couch Sam and Dean were sitting on, their backs to me. I stayed hidden, but I could hear their conversation really well.

"What about her?" Sam asked, sounding weary.

"So," Dean said, "She finally talked to someone. And to you, off all people."

Sam groaned, "Shut up, Dean. It's good that she's opening up to people."

"Oh, because you're such a great person to open up to," Dean drawled sarcastically.

Sam shoved Dean and said annunciated, "Jerk!"

"Bitch," Dean replied. Again, weird. "Tell me, then," Dean said sounding amused, "What's the story behind our silent, sassy, genius girl?"

I strained to hear Sam's reply, the blood rushing through my head. Was he going to tell Dean? No. What Sam said was, "If she wants you to know, she'll tell you. She's just starting to trust me; I'm not going to throw that away."

Dean let out a laugh of surprise and asked him, genuinely amused, " _Trust you?_ Wow, Sammy. You actually want her trust this time? You're not just going to get laid?"

" _Dean_ ," Sam admonished, sounding annoyed.

" _Sam,_ " Dean imitated Sam's tone of voice then said in his regular, snarky voice, "What? Dude, before you met her, you'd have sex with chicks in almost every town we went to."

"That was you," Sam corrected, "Not me."

"There was… let's think, Sammy," Dean lazily grinned, "Uh, Jessica. Madison. Oh, _Ruby."_

"Dean," Sam said, sounding pained, "First off, Jessica was my _girlfriend_. From _college._ And if she hadn't died, I probably would have been married to her by now." Hm. That was interesting. And saddening. Sam's old girlfriend died. Maybe that's why he seemed a little more…. Caring, than Dean.

"I know, Sam," Dean said, his voice softening somewhat.

"And Madison and Ruby were two other people, Dean. Not hundreds, like you," Sam added.

"Dude, Ruby wasn't a _person._ She was a freaking _demon_. And you had _sex_ with her. _Multiple times,"_ Dean remarked in a tone that was halfway between amusement and disbelief. That was something I really had not wanted to know, but whatever.

Sam sighed, "Whatever, Dean. Go make out with your boyfriend. I'm tired."

Dean stood up and punched Sam on the shoulder agreeably and said cheerfully, "Happy New Year's, Sammy! Have fun reading about…" He squinted at my book I had accidentally left and made a really amusing face as he said, " _The Theories of Hydrothermaic Nuclear Reactors and their Components._ " He looked up at Sam and asked, "What the hell? You're nuts."

Which, I guess, was indirectly calling me nuts, but that's okay. I was nuts. I am. Sam defiantly picked up the book and Dean rolled his eyes and walked away. I saw Sam struggle to read through the first few pages, muttering the text aloud to himself and every once in a while making comments like, " _What?"_ or " _The hell is that?"_

I tiptoed away and when I got back to my room, I was surprised to find myself smiling softly. That was weird. I was also surprised to find that I wasn't terrified of having talked to Sam any more, which was weirder. In fact, I felt… a bit happier? Whoa. Did I like Sam Winchester? I thought maybe I did. That was probably supposed to fill me will fear and terror, but it surprisingly didn't. It made me smile a bit bigger, instead. I went into my room, shut the door, and fell on the bed. Sam Winchester. An enigma and a strange one, at that. I literally spent the next three hours sorting my thoughts into file folders.

So like I said, I spent the next three hours mentally filing my thoughts, and when three thirty am rolled around, I myself rolled out of bed to go clean up. I didn't have to sleep. I was too busy trying to figure out my feelings. I gently padded down the hallway after removing my boots. Yes, okay, I wore boots in the house. But not winter boots. I wore an old pair of brown leather lace-up riding boots that my mom used to wear. I also had another pair that looked exactly the same, but they were black leather. So sue me. But now I was in my socks. I didn't want to make too much noise, because I was sure that there were people still up in their bedrooms, doing… whatever. Or they were sleeping in random places, drunk. So, I wanted to be quiet.

But I also wanted to clean, and my desire for it to be clean overrode my longing to stay in my room. I ventured forth and arrived in the living room, only to find Sam sleeping on the couch, still holding my hydrothermaics book. He must have fallen asleep reading it. That small, unexpected smile lit my face again. I softly walked over to the couch where he was sleeping. Holding my breath, I slowly and nervously removed the book from under one of his right arm. I flinched as he shifted, but his breathing remained deep and even. I watched him curiously for a while.

I thought struck me; _he's kind of cute._ He had nice hair; it still sort of looked like a nest of feathers; it sort of flipped up at the ends and was a nice chestnut color. When he was awake, his eyes were nice, too. I never could really tell what color they were; some days they looked green, some blue, some grey, some a combination of the three, and – I grew confused and decided to think about Sam later. For the time being, I needed to clean before anyone woke up. And then I had to cook breakfast. I started with all the food that was left (which wasn't much) and I carried it to the kitchen down the hall. I placed everything in Tupperware containers and then into the fridge. I then proceeded to pick up all the litter and haul that outside. Yeah, at four am, I told you, I wasn't scared of the dark. And besides, I could probably beat up whatever was milling around should he decide to attack. I swept the floor and wiped down the ping pong table and the coffee tables. I paused briefly by Sam, wondering if he would wake up, but he didn't; he just continued to breathe deep and even. He was so freaking _tall._ He didn't even fit on the couch, really. At all. His legs just sort of draped over the arm of the couch and his feet touched the floor, which was kind of cute.

There I went again, thinking that Sam was cute. Okay. I finally, finally, finished cleaning about five, and was about to go into the kitchen when I paused and looked back at Sam. Maybe he was cold? I went over to a basket that was placed in the corner, and gently draped it over Sam, staring at him a moment. He _was_ really nice. He was kind to me, and respected my personal space, and I think he genuinely cared about how I was doing. That was a nice thought.

And with that, I went to the kitchen to go make breakfast.

Happy New Year.


	23. I Become A Recluse Again

Well, I wish I could say that I broke out of my shell after that, that Sam and I started dating, and that we got married and had kids and lived happily ever after, but that's not exactly what happened. No, what happened instead of all that was I actually withdrew back into my shell, much to my dismay. I don't know why, but the next time I saw Sam, I barely talked to him. I could tell he was disappointed, and I didn't blame him. I was sort of upset, too. I did like him, but I was too scared to follow my heart and try to at least become his friend. My head had been ruling over my heart for too long, and so the battle against it was fairly short-lived.

The next few months passed as the previous few had; I was close-mouthed, cooking all the meals, never eating with the others. However, I did talk to them a bit more readily if they sought me out to talk to me. I was still distant when it came to talking about myself, but if they needed something explained about one of my gadgets that they didn't understand from the instruction manual, I would explain it to them. Oh, right, I forgot; for every gadget I made I also made a corresponding instruction manual so I didn't have to verbally explain how said gadget worked to the others. I started off by writing them really professional, but one day Jack came in and told me I sounded like a textbook and that no one had any idea what I was saying because ' _they were not geniuses like [me]'_ and so I started writing them in what I guess you would call a 'standard level of reading' and Jack was so excited that he gave me a pay raise, which I didn't even need.

Around mid-April, Sam and Dean left and were gone for a solid three months, which was sort of nice; I didn't have to worry tiptoeing around Sam. I was also able to become more aware of how I was feeling on a day-to-day basis. I was able to sort through my fears, figure out what did and what did not make me nervous. Here's what I figured out; it was the one-on-one conversations I didn't like. I was fine if it was two guys, or three guys and a girl, or two girls, but I hated one-on-one conversations with people. I for sure had anxiety; I knew that. I didn't like lots of little noises going on all once; I didn't like to listen to more than one conversation going on at a time while there was the buzzing of different machines in the background, coupled with the noises that the air conditioning made and other things. I would go into a sensory overload and if I didn't get away from the situation fast enough, a panic attack would occur. And that, I determined, was why I liked being alone; not a lot of noise. I had also spent a the past few years on my own; of course I wasn't used to being around a lot of people on a daily basis; of course I wasn't used to having people pay special attention to me because they were interested in my in a nice way, as opposed to a hostile way. It was just going to take some time to get used to all of that. That was it, really. I sort of had trust issues, but I didn't think they were any more severe than that of a normal human being with common sense.

When Sam and Dean came back, Sam continued to come round and visit with me, which was okay. I didn't really talk to him about myself, but I was willing to tell him about what I was working on. He asked how it worked and the science behind it, which I enjoyed telling him about, because science was what I really enjoyed talking about. I think Sam figured that out as the weeks went by, because he stopped asking me questions about myself and just stuck to questions about science, which was sweet of him, considering that I knew he really wanted to learn about my past, but I really wasn't quite ready to share that with him yet. I know; weird, right? I mean, I had basically poured my heart out to Bobby the day after I met him. And then I gave Erin a slight overview of my past, but I just couldn't bring myself to tell Sam anything. He had met Danny and I had said he was my brother multiple times; I couldn't change that now. And I couldn't… just tell him I was raped. I mean… what kind of a conversation would that be?

I didn't know, and I didn't want to find out.


	24. Whoops I Ruined My Own Birthday Party

Well, summer passed. Exciting, right? No. Nothing really exciting happened. I reorganized my gadgets room and cleaned it properly. I guess _something_ exciting did happen. I helped Erin learn how to cook. She was already pretty good, but I helped her learn some more. So she and I started trading off the cooking schedule, which was nice. Sometimes we cooked together, which was also nice. I also got to get to know her better; which was _really_ nice. It was good to have a friend. She was my first friend; ever. Well, besides Danny, but I think that's slightly different.

Well, fall came around. I mean, I guess it was _technically_ still summer; but I said it was fall; not autumn. Autumn is a season by the Gregorian calendar and is determined by the Earth's position in relationship to the sun, depending on where you are positioned on the globe that is the Earth. Fall is just when the leaves start changing and normal kids start going back to school and it gets cooler. Basically, it was the beginning of September. More specifically, it was September 12th, my birthday. Not just any birthday, either; it was my 21st birthday. But no one knew that. Or… well, I didn't think they did. But then 11am rolled around and I went to the kitchen to make lunch and Erin was sitting on the counter, holding a cup of coffee. She lived off of coffee. It was interesting.

"Hi," she grinned, looking mischievous. I sort of ignored her look because she looked like that one other time when she knew something I didn't, and all it turned out to be was that Dean was right behind me and he dumped a bucket of water on my head, just for kicks, I guess. It had been April Fools' Day. This time, however, I knew for a fact that Dean wasn't in the kitchen with a bucket of water, waiting to dump it on my head. And it wasn't a holiday where normal people played jokes on one another, jokes that some considered 'practical'. So I just got to cooking the chicken for the enchiladas I was going to make. "Hi," I replied.

"So," She smirked, "Happy 21st birthday."

"What?" I jolted, surprised.

"Your birthday is today," she sang.

"Uh," I replied, unsure what to say, so I asked, "How'd you know that?

" _Because_ ," she informed me, "You indirectly told me."

I wracked my brain, trying to sort through every conversation I had ever had with her, but came up with nothing. "No, I didn't," I said, but I was unsure.

"Yes, you did," She teased me, "It was last year. You told me your half birthday."

"Wha –" I began to ask. But then I remembered. It was the day Cas had broken up with her and she had come crying to me for comfort I really couldn't give her. I had told her my mom died on my half-birthday, March 12th. But…

"How in the world do you know that it's my 21st?" I was confused.

"Because Dean and Sam told me you were," was her reply. Oh. Right. I had informed them I wasn't 16, but 20, on the car ride over.

"Well, okay," I said, defeated, "I am. Yes, it's my birthday."

"We're taking you to a bar tonight!" She burst out, bubbling.

" _What_?" I turned, horrified, to look at her, "No, you're not!"

" _Yes, we are,"_ she insisted.

"I have never," I informed her, "had a drop of alcohol in my life, okay? Not going to happen."

"It's going to happen," she told me.

" _No,_ " I shot back firmly, "Not going to happen."

She pouted, "Please?" Despite the fact that she was a year and a half older than me, Erin could act like a small child quite a lot and it was amusing. But it was also exasperating, because the look she was giving me was making me want to say _yes_ very badly.

"Ugh," I finally groaned, "Yes, fine."

"Ha!" she shrieked, punching the air with her fist, "Yes!"

I gave her a look and she giggled at me. It was stranges how different we were. She had confided her thoughts about me _to_ me a few weeks previously; "You know, Sara, when you first came here, I thought you were really weird." Uh, thanks, Erin. "Not because I think you're _weird,_ but because we're really different." Okay. "I mean, you hardly ever talk, like, at all, and then I just talk all the time!" I had noticed. "So, I dunno. But it's nice having another girl at base!" She had punched me in the shoulder, making me wince a little. "It's nice to have someone to gang up on the guys with!" Well, I wasn't going to _gang up on the guys_ with her, but it was true, I agreed with her; it was nice to be around another woman.

I made her promise that they wouldn't get me drunk, or take pictures, or dump water on me, or pester me about my life or sing to me or tell the people at the bar that it was my birthday or for everyone else to even really basically pay attention to me. She nodded innocently, but I glared at her, disbelieving. But I had said I would go along, so I spent the rest of the day sweating about it. I was _not_ going to change my clothes – a pair of faded jeans, my brown boots, a blue-and-purple-plaid button-up collared shirt and a green jacket – or my hair, which was in two braids that fell a little past my collar bones. When I went to the front door that night, around 8pm, my arms crossed, Dean took one look at me and laughed, "You look like a pissed off cowgirl."

"Thank you," I drawled sarcastically in a southern accent and he cracked up. I glared at Erin and she grinned.

"This is your fault," I hissed at her.

"Actually," she countered laughing, "You're the one who agreed to come."

"Because you made me!" I said, frustrated. Dean kept laughing at me and Cody was grinning at me, too. Cas was looking concerned and Sam was standing there, looking at me, smiling. I was just mad. I didn't want all these _men_ coming. I didn't even want to go, but I figured I should try to be social for once, or else I was going to die alone. "Come on," I grumbled, "The sooner we get there the sooner we can leave."

I stalked out the door and heard Sam say, "You know, we don't have to go, Erin. It's _her_  
birthday. Maybe we should just stay here."

"She's fine," Erin said, "She'll be just fine."

"Dude, it's her 21st birthday," Dean pointed out. He asked Erin hopefully, "Is it a stripper bar?"

I spun around, and told Dean in a slightly stressed voice, "We are _not_ going to a _stripper bar_ for _my birthday!_ And _you have a boyfriend!_ " Dean laughed and I sighed huffily, throwing open the door to my truck. As I climbed in, Erin giggled, ran out to my truck and got in the passenger's side. As she buckled up, I marveled, again, at how different she was in comparison to me.

As you know, she was really outgoing. She voiced her opinions and wasn't afraid to speak for others. She was strong and courageous, basically the opposite of me. She had gorgeous shoulder-length red hair, and beautiful blue eyes. She was about the same height a me, although a bit taller. She had muscle, too. It was fantastic. She could definitely take me in a fight if we ever got into one, which I sincerely hoped we never would. Her voice sort reminded me of a… waterfall, as weird as that may sound. It was crisp, clear and came out of her like a stream of water. But it was also elegant and flow-y in a certain way that… I'll shut up about Erin's voice.

I drove to the bar, Erin directing me where to go. In between her commands, she asked; "You're okay with this, right?"

Truthfully, I told her, "No, I'm really not okay with this at all."

She looked surprised and exclaimed, "Why didn't you say that earlier?"

"Because, Erin," I explained, "I'm passive assertive. I won't object to something that's not life-threatening."

"Sara," She said sound exasperated, "You could have just told me you didn't want to go."

"I did," I pointed out, "Multiple times."

She thought about that then said, "Oh."

"It's fine," I reassured her somewhat blandly, "I'll be fine."

"Okay…" she trailed off, looking guilty.

I sighed, "Erin, to be honest, this might be good for me. I literally only leave the house to go shopping for food or go to church."

"You go to church?" she asked, surprised.

I was surprised, too, "Has no one figured that out yet?"

"Uh," Erin replied, raising an eyebrow, "No?"

"Hm," I replied, intrigued, "Well. That's interesting."

"Merge into the left lane here. So you really go to church?" She inquired, sincerely interested.

I nodded and without taking my eyes off of the road, "Has no one ever noticed  
that?"

"I mean, yeah, Cody did."

"Nice," I mumbled sarcastically.

"What?" she sounded confused.

"Well, apparently _everybody_ talks about me," I told her, sarcastically sounding like a teenage girl.

She laughed then asked, "Sure we talk about you. You won't talk for yourself."

I blushed a little and said, "I'm not much of a talker."

That made her burst out laughing. I'm serious, she cracked up. After a few minutes, she gasped, "I noticed. My God, you were so quiet that for the longest time I thought you hated everyone. Or you didn't like the way your voice sounded. You make me so self-conscious!" She laughed some more. I didn't, though. I didn't even crack a smile. Instead, her last comment had caught my attention.

"I do?" I asked worriedly, "Why?"

"Because," Erin wiped tears from her eyes, "Because you're so damn quiet _all the time_. And – a left here – and I never shut up. And half the time I talk, I just talk to talk, but you only talk when it's necessary, when you have something really important to say, or when you're seriously pissed off." She laughed again, but it was quieter this time. She added, "You have a voice that everyone listens to. When you say something, you say it because it's something you strongly believe or it's a bit of information that is _necessary_ to share with other people. I just kind of… like socializing." She blushed.

"So what are you saying?" I asked, "That you're embarrassed of the way you are because of me?"

"No!" She said, but I heard a tremor in her voice. I glanced at her briefly with a meaningful look and she muttered, "There you go again."

"Doing what?" I asked quietly.

"Your 'I don't need words to drive a conversation' thing," she grimaced with a wave of her hand.

"You know," I informed her gently, "I'm going to need some more information than that. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You don't?" she debated, "You really don't?"

"I don't," I confirmed, "I literally have no idea what the 'no words needed to drive a conversation' thing is. And something about me definitely bothers you."

"How d'you that?" Erin challenged me, then added, "Right."

"Because," I said, turning left, "It's in your voice."

"Oh, my God!" she shrieked.

I looked around nervously, wondering what was wrong. I tensed and asked, "What is it?"

" _You,"_ she groused, "It's like you've got a freaking _superpower._ You can just _lead_ a conversation with actually saying anything and just seem to _know_ when people are actually demons and you're freaking smart and you command a room without having to say _anything_ and you–"

"Whoa," I interceded, "First off, I don't 'command a room'; people simply stare at me when I enter because I _never_ enter rooms, so when I do, they're just surprised to see that I'm alive. As for the deduction of your feelings via your voice, I've had to do that my whole entire life to survive, so it's just a habit. It's not like I'm trying to psychoanalyze you. It's just me."

"Oh, okay," She said uneasily, "But you're just…"

"I'm different than you," I supplied, "I know. That's because we're very different people. So of course we act differently. But don't let that bother you."

She nodded and there was a somewhat uncomfortable silence, punctured by Erin telling me to turn right at the stop light. Then –

"Dean was right, actually," she told me after looking at me a moment.

"About what?"

"With your boots, jeans, plaid shirt, gorgeous hair, and scowl, you really did look like a pissed off cowgirl."

"Oh, be quiet," I tried to sound mad, but I ended up smiling a bit.

"I haven't seen you smile before," Erin remarked.

"I don't smile a lot."

"Why not?"

I shrugged, "I guess there's just not a lot to smile about."

"Sure there is! Straight at the stoplight." she told me. She had gotten over Cas a while ago, and she and him were finally friends again, much to Castiel's relief, I think. And she and Cody… well, they tiptoed awkwardly around one another. On New Year's Eve, she and he had kissed, but she later claimed it was because she was drunk. Nice. That made me want to go out drinking all the more. "It's a beautiful day, it's your _21_ _st_ _birthday_ , you're brilliant, you're probably the safest you've ever been since you live at Torchwood now, people think you're great, Sam _adores_ you –"

"Yeah, okay," I interrupted her, "Stop with that. I really don't think so."

"But he does," she purred, smiling, "His face practically lights up when you enter a room and he brings you up in conversation every chance he gets."

"Okay," I replied, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

" _Okay_?" Erin reiterated, "Just _okay_? Sara, he's gorgeous. You should take the chance and go on a few dates with him, if not more than that." She winked at me.

I blushed and Erin laughed as I informed her, self-consciously, "Uhm… no. That's not going to happen." Her amused face fell when I added, "None of it."

"Why not?" she demanded.

" _Because_ ," I stressed to her, wondering how much longer it would be until we hit the bar, "I don't do relationships."

"Then just sleep with him once or twice,' She said boldly, "It doesn't have to mean anything. Turn left."

" _Erin,_ " I freaked, "No! I can't do that!"

"Why can't you turn left?" She asked confused.

I turned left and reworded, " _Erin,_ _I cannot just…. sleep… with… Sam._ "

Raising an eyebrow, Erin crossed her arms and regarded me with an amused air, "And why not? Sex is fun."

"Okay," I said, just to appease her, "Sure it is, for you, but I'm not _ever_ getting married. I'm not _ever_ going to be in a relationship with _anyone_ and I am _never_ going to sleep with someone, especially if I'm not married to them."

"You're never going to date anyone. Ever?" Erin said, slightly bewildered.

"No," I confirmed, "Not ever. I don't do… intimate relationships."

"Why?" she asked curious.

Okay, seriously? How far away was this freaking bar? I was done with this conversation. I curved around a bend and then I sighed, "Because, Erin. Ever since I… was… raped… I don't… I can't…. I don't even like it when someone brushes up against me accidentally."

I could feel her gaze on my face and I shivered a bit. "I see," was all she said. I nodded. "So… is that why you like being by yourself?" she asked after a time.

"Sort of," was my honest reply, "I think –"

"Last right; we're almost there," she interrupted, "Sorry, continue."

"I think," I repeated, "It's more that I'm used to being by myself; it's overly-stressful to be around other people all day. That's why I never come out of the gadget's room, except to make meals. Even talking to you for half an hour wears me out. Not because I don't like talking to you, but because I'm not good at it."

"You," Erin stated, "are interesting."

"Why's that?"

"Because," she said, "You're fine at talking. Actually, if I didn't know that you didn't like talking to people, I wouldn't know. You seem perfectly fine when you talk to others; like you talk to them every day. The only difference is that you actually don't."

"Well, that's somewhat gratifying," I replied, "Because I'm always worrying that I look uncomfortable or worried, or both."  
"Well, I mean, you do right now," Erin told me nicely, "But most of the time you don't."

"Good," is all I said as I pulled into a parking space. My stomach was churning and I felt dizzy. I really did not want to go into the bar. "Erin," I whispered, "please don't let me drink anything."

"Okay," she said.

Liar.

Erin and I stood by the door, my arms crossed protectively over my chest as we waited for the others to get there. I don't know why we got there first. I mean, we left first, but the guys were right behind us. But, for some reason that I still have yet to understand, they took five extra minutes to get to the bar.

And what a stressful five minutes that was. It was about 8:20, and the sun hadn't quite set yet, but a lot of people were coming and going. When a few guys who were leaving the bar walked up to us, my heart started racing. But then something happened as they started talking to Erin, eyeing both her and me. I don't know how to describe it, but I got… _stronger._ I stopped feeling scared and started feeling… like I was in control. These two couldn't hurt me; not unless I let them. And _that_ wasn't ever going to happen. While one of the guys was flirting avidly with Erin, the other, a buff –looking guy in his mid-twenties turned a sunny smile on me.

"Hey, doll," he slurred, obviously drunk, "You look like you're right out of the south. Can I have your name?"

"Why?" I asked innocently, not smiling, "Don't you have your own?"

There was a seconds' pause and he laughed, and I swore internally. I think I accidentally just flirted with him. I didn't want to do that. "Sure do," he told me smoothly, "Alex." He tried to take my hand, and I moved it out of the way. He moved a bit closer to me and purred, "You sure know how to turn a few heads."

"Yeah," I agreed, backing up, glaring, "And you sure know how to turn a few stomachs."

He frowned a bit, trying to work that out. He reeked like a brewery and it made me want to gag. I hated alcohol. He tried again while I stared him down, "Is the rest of you as smooth as your voice? I know that if I could just see the rest of you, I'd die happy."

I noticed Sam and Dean walking up with Cas and Cody in my peripheral vision and stop a few feet away as I shot back at Alex, "Yeah, you would die alright. And if I saw the rest of you, I'd die laughing."

I heard Dean's sharp breath intake and Alex tried to grab me around the waist. A loud crack sounded when I backhanded Alex, and socked him in the stomach. He fell to the ground, moaning, Erin and her guy staring at me. This other guy must have been pretty sloshed, because he started laughing. I hissed down at Alex, "I'd rather light myself on fire and crawl over broken glass than go anywhere with you." I threw open the door to the bar, leaving the rest of them staring after me and Alex still moaning on the ground.

"Wow," I heard Dean say behind me, "What a way to reject a guy."

What a way to celebrate my 21st birthday.

I entered the bar to find it pretty empty, thank the Lord. I plunked myself down at a large booth over in a corner, waiting for the others to come in. I crossed my arms and legs angrily, still fuming. After a moment I realized that I was shaking not from terror but adrenaline. _I'm proud of myself,_ I realized. I did wince, though. I'm not sure if beating up a drunk guy was the best way to get out of that situation. Oh, well. I looked at my hand briefly before re-crossing my arms. It was red and starting to bruise – I guess I had hit him harder than I thought, poor guy – when the others came in, looking around. After a moment, they found me. As they walked over, I noticed Erin was by herself and that Dean was grinning, although the rest of the guys looked rather scared of me. Dean slid into the booth, took one look at me, and burst out laughing.

"God, Sara," he choked, "The look on your face when he tried to grab you and – " he chuckled for a few more moments as the rest of them got into the booth. I made sure I was sitting next to Erin, and that I was on the end.

"Yeah, well," I muttered.

"Oh, my God," Erin sighed, "Sara. You can't just _beat guys up because they hit on you."_

"Sure, I can," I retorted, making Dean laugh again.

" _Sara_ ," Erin exclaimed, exasperated.

"Sara," Dean said simultaneously, "You've really got to chill with us more."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, but I didn't have to, because just then a pretty waitress came over, "Hey, everyone! My name's Traci." She greeted, "What can I get you?"

Everyone ordered, and when she got to me, I just said, "I'd like to have a water, please."

She nodded and started to walk away but Dean called out, "Wait!"

Traci came back and looked at him expectantly. Dean said, "She'll actually have a Long Island Ice Tea."

"What?" I asked confused. I liked ice tea, but… The waitress raised an eyebrow and Sam looked at Dean. The waitress looked at me for confirmation and I shrugged, "Sure, I said." I mean, it was iced tea; it didn't have alcohol in it.

Oh, God, how wrong I was. Erin laughed when I took a sip of it, and I looked at her. "What?" I asked. I looked at the iced tea. It looked like iced tea. It _was_ iced tea. But she couldn't stop laughing. " _What_?" I repeated.

"Nothing," she consoled me, "I just can't get over what you did to that poor guy." I looked at her and sighed, rolling my eyes.

" _I'm sorry,_ " I apologized and reminded her, "I'm not good with _people_ , Erin."

"I know," she sighed and took a sip of her… whatever she was having.

Sam grinned over at me and asked, "So it's your birthday today?"

"Sort of," I said, "It is, but I don't really celebrate it."

"You don't?" Cody asked, "Why not?"

"Uh, well," I said, "Because I just… don't. When you're on the run for over half your life, you don't really have to sit down and… have cake or whatever. I don't really like cake anyways. And my parents didn't think it was that important to celebrate it."

" _What?"_ Cody asked, mystified, "They didn't?"

"Well," I corrected myself, "We would watch the Spiderman movies."

"And that's it?"

"And that's it," I confirmed, taking another drink from my iced tea.

"So you'd just watch the Spiderman movies on your birthday, and that was it?" Sam asked.

I shrugged, "Well, we didn't ever really get to celebrate my birthday on my actual _birthday_ , because my parents were Hunters, so one or both of them were out a lot. But that's what my birthday celebration was; watching Spiderman." I didn't know why I was telling them all that. I took another drink from my iced tea. It was really good. But the more I drank it, the weirder I felt. All at once, I figured it out. I took another sip of the 'tea', really paying attention to how it tasted.

Yeah, it wasn't tea. I looked at my glass and realized I had drunk about half of it at that point. Great. I looked up to see Dean, Erin and Cody looking at me. Cas was staring at Dean, sort of basking in Dean's beauty (not that I thought Dean was… beautiful… but Erin had told me once that Dean had all the beauty of a Disney Princess, and I took her word for it, never having seen a 'Disney' movie), and Sam was looking worriedly at me.

I said to Dean pointedly, "This isn't iced tea, is it."

"No," he grinned.

"And there's not any actual tea in this, is there?" I asked.

"Nope," he laughed.

I set my glass down and glared at him, "Great. That's nice."

Sam whacked Dean on the head and Dean retorted, "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam muttered.

"Are you afraid that you can't hold your liquor, Sara?" Dean teased me.

"Uh, well, yeah," I grimaced, "Considering I've never had a drop of alcohol in my life, and I _had_ planned on keeping it that way."

"Nuh-uh," Cody cut in, "No way."

I glanced at him, then at the others, and saw they were all looking at me like I had grown two heads. "What?" I protested, "Of course I haven't! I wasn't twenty-one before today –"

Dean put his head in one of his hands and groaned, "Dude. That's hardly important. You've used fake IDs for almost your whole life, from what I've heard, and never _once_ claimed to be over twenty-one?"

"No," I said defensively, "considering you two thought I was _sixteen_ when you first met me. And I also have some morals somewhere. I did what I had to; to survive. Nothing more. And pretending I was at least twenty-one so I could go drink was not _necessary._ "

"Oh, God," Dean groaned some more, "Are you seriously one of those people?"

"One of those people _what_?" I questioned. I was beginning to finally feel the full effect of the alcohol as it spread throughout my body. It was giving me a weird tingly feeling and made my head feel light, but not uncomfortably so. I was feeling freer and I felt more at ease with everyone than I ever had.

"One of those people that tries to be a good person even though they kill things for a living?" Dean elaborated.

" _Dean,_ " Sam admonished, "Sara's a good person."

"That's because you're in love with her," Dean swatted him on the shoulder.

Sam made a scathing noise at Dean and took a sip of his beer. "But, really," Erin said, "You seem like a good person."

"Well…." I said, unsure, "Thanks." I sighed and picked my 'tea' back up and drank some more, making Dean grin. "Be quiet," I grumbled.

After a while, Cody seemed to notice that most of my drink was gone and he asked bravely, "So what was your life like before you came to Torchwood, Sara?"

I was not quite tipsy at that point, but pretty close. "Well," I said ironically uninformative despite my matter-of-fact-voice voice, "It was really crazy. A lot of people died. I think I died. Maybe once."

Cas suddenly looked uncomfortable and he said, "That's not true. You have never died."

"Okay," I agreed with him, "But I almost did. I was going to."

"What?" Sam said, alarm barely slicing an edge into his voice.

"Cas saved me when I was nineteen," I explained, "I tried to kill myself." I took another sip from my tea while there was a shocked silence that fell upon the table, one that I took no notice of. I just continued to sip my drink. It was really good.

"What?" Dean asked carefully, voicing the question I'm sure the others were thinking.

"Oh," I said nonchalantly, playing with one of my braids, "I was just depressed. My mom was murdered in front of me when I was six. Oh, and my dad blew his brains out. I guess he wanted to be with my mom more than he wanted to be with me. And I had a son a few years back and he died of leukemia." I continued to play with my braid and finished my iced tea. Everyone was staring at me, and Erin's face was almost heart-broken.

"Oh, my God, you guys," I said worriedly after a moment, "It's okay. I've gotten used to it. It's okay."

"No it's not," Sam said quietly.

"Okay, it's not great all that stuff happened to me, or that I tried to kill myself," I amended, flushing, "But I've learned to accept that that's what happened. I'm fine."

Something in Sam's face broke a moment later and he uttered, horrified, "Oh, my God. That boy I met in the hospital wasn't your brother, was he?"

"No," I said honestly, "He wasn't. That was my son." I twirled the umbrella that had been in my drink on the table and added, "I was wondering if you were ever going to ask that, because if you did some simple calculations you would have discovered it was impossible for him to be my actual brother, considering he was born after my parents died."

I glanced at everyone quickly, hazily gauging their reactions, trying to read what their facial expressions revealed about what they were thinking. Erin looked like she was holding in a torrent of tears; that was nice of her, to feel so emotional even though she knew all that anyways. Dean wasn't even looking at me; he was staring at the table, a slight frown on his face, obviously thinking hard. I assumed that he was working through what I had just said. Cas had on his usual indifferent look, like he had heard my story before, which since he was my guardian angel, he probably had watched me every day of my life since my dad had asked him. That was a little creepy. Sam was just staring at me without blinking, looking desperately sad. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I just knew that I was sort of probably on the verge of being drunk and that I wanted to throw up. Cody was looking horrified, trying to mentally sort through how I could talk about such awful things so calmly.

And I was just sitting there twirling my little pink umbrella, without a care in the world for the first time in my life.


	25. Obama More Like BRObama amiright

So I don't really remember driving home and it turns out that's because I didn't drive home. Sam drove my truck and I slept in the passenger seat. I had fallen asleep at the table, which the others thought funny, "but also sort of depressing," Erin had informed me the next day. I had asked why she was sort of crying at the bar and she was silent a moment before answering, "Well, God, Sara, you just said all of that shit that happened to you like it was something you said every day, and that broke my heart."

"It's something I live with every day," I pointed out.

"I know, but…" she shook her head, trailing off and walking away.

So there was that. There was also the way everyone else treated me. I started making myself more visible to everyone. I didn't eat with them, still, but I started taking to bringing my finished gadgets to Jack during the day instead of leaving them outside his office in a box in the dead of night, which sort of surprised him the first time I appeared in his office.

So I made myself more visible. And I talked with people more. But everyone sort of flinched when they talked to me; it was like our roles were reversed. I no longer was terrified to talk; but they were nervous to talk to me. Because of what I had told them.

Nice.

So really, I ended up back to where I was before I had accidentally told everyone about my life; not talking to anyone. It was sort of a sad letdown, if you ask me. I was really proud of myself for being willing to talk to other people, especially since I had lived with them for almost a year, but since I had spilled… ugh, it was frustrating. I sort of think it got them assuming things about me, too. I mean, I had said I had had a son, but I never fully explained that situation. Erin knew, and Castiel knew, but I'm fairly certain that Cody, Dean, and Sam were not aware about the circumstances of my son's conception, and I'm fairly certain that they weren't imagining what actually happened. What worried me the most was what Sam thought. I had said at the bar if he just did some simple math he would have figured out Danny couldn't possibly be my brother. But the more I thought about it, the more nervous I because, because if Sam did do some math, he would realize that I was really young when I had him, and the thought of him figuring that out made me wince.

So the next six months passed in a somewhat awkward fashion.

March 2011 rolled around, and one fine day, the 21st, I believe, Jack called me into his office. I strolled down the hallway, feeling pretty calm. It was nice outside – I only knew that because the windows were open – and a pleasant breeze was blowing through the hallway. I reached his office and knocked on his door. "Come in," he invited. I softly smiled a greeting at him and he grinned back, gesturing that I sit down on a chair opposite his desk. I obliged, and he leaned back in his chair, his hand behind his head. "So, Sara," he said, "I hear you're being a bit more social lately."

Uh, not what I had expected to hear. At all. "Yeah, I suppose," I agreed, "I'm trying."

"Good," he nodded, "And you'd say that you're more comfortable talking with men now… say… Sam, Dean, Cody, and Cas?"

"Well, I was always okay talking to Castiel," I informed him, "We met back when I was nineteen. He's my guardian angel." Jack raised an eyebrow suggestively and I shook my head, feeling my cheeks warm up a bit and amended hurriedly, "No, but really. My father asked him to be my guardian angel… it's not... some sort of… romantic term… that's just… what he is. He's an angel that's charged with keeping me safe."

The evocative smile slipped of Jack's face and he nodded, "Okay. I see. But you think you're more willing to talk to men?"

"Yeah," I said, not sure at all where this was going.

"And you like it here at Torchwood?"

"Oh, yes," I told him earnestly, "I feel safe and get to build all sorts of wonderful things, and I have enough time on my hands that I can continue my studies and – "

"Your studies?"

"Yes," I answered, "There's always more to learn."

"I think," Jack said slowly, "If you weren't a Hunter, you could probably go get a job at a university to be a professor, even though you're barely twenty-one."

"Thanks," I blushed, inwardly feeling pleased, "I've always wondered what school was like."

"Never been to school? You? Really?" Jack asked, intrigued.

I shook my head, "No. Mom and Dad home-schooled me, and when they died, my grandmother did for a few years. When she and my grandfather died, I taught myself the rest."

"Wow," Jack exclaimed, a smile brightening his face, "That's very interesting."

I blushed harder, "Thanks."

"So you've become comfortable enough to socialize and interact with others, and you like it here, and you're about as brilliant as a seventy-five-year-old college professor, despite the fact you're only twenty-one."

"Uh," I replied, "I guess."

"Good," jack said, matter-of-factly, "Because I want you to operate your own base." I just looked at him with my eyebrows raised, not saying anything, shocked beyond words. After a minute of silence, Jack repeated, "Uh, I'd like you to operate a base. In Illinois. It's already built. You'd probably need to finish it somewhat, decorate your living quarters, but there's –"

"What?" I asked, not understanding.

Jack laughed at my bewildered expression and explained kindly, "There's a new base that the government has opened in Illinois, about half an hour west of Chicago. The President contacted me and –"

"Barack Obama contacted you?" I squeaked.

Jack nodded, grinning, "And he said he wanted me to send out my very best to head this new base, and I've chosen you."

I wanted to throw up. "Why me?" I asked, my stomach churning, "Why not Erin or –"

"Because," Jack cut me off, "Erin is transferring, too, to a base in St. Louis. I've already discussed this with her. Her base is going to focus on medical engineering, and your base is going to focus on mechanical engineering. You're the smartest person in this entire base when it comes to mechanical engineering, and I daresay you might just be the smartest person, period. I need you to do this"

"Oh, my God," I said faintly, toying with my cross necklace, "So I'm going to have an entire base."

"Yes. And Cody, Sam, Dean, and Cas would be there, too, at the beginning with you."

The floor dropped out from under my feet. "What."

"Well," Jack corrected himself, "There would eventually be more people there, but for the time being, it's just going to be you five, if you'll say yes. You'll be the base operator, and Cody will be an acting doctor. And Sam and Dean and Cas will be able to help stock the base into a safe house for other hunters that happen to stop by."

"Oh, my God," I said again. I was in shock.

"Please," Jack implored me, "I know you'll be exemplary for this job; you'll be able to run it efficiently and smoothly. And we can keep in close contact; we'll have to, with Erin leaving for St. Louis. She'll send you information so you can potentially develop healing technology, and you can send her information so she can invent healing supplies. And if there was a special tool or technology that was needed to be created, you would create it."

"And then… would… I send that information to you?" I asked.

"No," Jack told me, a grin on his face, "You'll send that information to the President."

"What?" I shrieked.

Jack grinned wider and said grandly, "Your new boss is the President of the United States."

"But I haven't even said yes!" I choked back a scream. I was hyperventilating. It was too much, too fast. Oh, God. I breathed heavily and curled up in a ball on the chair, tucking my head between my legs and wrapping my arms over my head. After a bit, my rapid breathing slowed down and I managed to get a hold of myself. Okay, Sara, I thought to myself, it will be okay. You'll get to know the guys better and they're actually very nice and you don't have to worry about them hurting because Cas will kill them if they do. Unless I kill them first. And Jack's asking because he knows that you'll be good at this. It's not because he doesn't want you. He thinks you can do it. You can do it.

You can do it.

"I'll do it," I gasped.

"What?" Jack asked gently.

I looked up and swallowed, "I'll do it."

"You'll do it," he repeated. I nodded vigorously and he said, worriedly, "Because you don't have to."

"No. No!" I said vehemently, "I'll do it. Sorry. I was just… shocked. And it's a lot to take in… but yes. I'll do it. Yes."

"Good," Jack said, sounding relieved. He picked up his phone and dialed a number.

"Uh, who are you calling?" I stuttered.

"Well," Jack smiled, "I – oh, yes, hello, President Obama. I have your new head of the base of Illinois sitting here with me. Her name is Sara Müller. She's twenty-one and – oh, yes, I realize that's a lot younger than you were thinking, but let me tell you, sir, that's she's one of the most brilliant people I've ever met, she can speak –" he looked over at me and whispered, "How many languages are you fluent in?"

"Nine," I said faintly, "English, French, German, Ancient Greek, Italian, Latin, Spanish, Portuguese, and Welsh."

"Nine language," Jack repeated proudly, "She is fluent in nine languages and understands astrophysics, nuclear sciences, technological engineering, and is one of the bravest, strongest women I have met." Oh, my God. "I trust her fully," Jack continued, "I am certain she will be wonderful." He held the phone out to me and said, "He wants to talk to you."

Oh, God. Barack Obama wanted to talk to me. Okay. I took the phone from him and my voice came out surprisingly strong as I greeted, "Good afternoon, Mr. President, sir. I trust things are well?"

"Well," came his voice, buttery and warm, "I'd say things are certainly a lot better now that I have my two new bases headed by what appears to be two very intelligent women."

I replied professionally, "Thank you, sir. I must say, I was quite surprised when Jack asked me to fill this job, but I am very much looking forward to it."

He laughed, surprising me, "And judging by the way you talk, I'm sure you'll be wonderful. Thanks, Sara. I have to run to a meeting, but I know we'll get to talk more later. You rock."

"Uh, thank you, sir," I said, "Have a wonderful day." He thanked me and hung up. I clicked the 'end' button on the phone and I shrieked, "I just talked to Barack Obama!"

The first of many exciting things that were about to happen in my life.


	26. Cody is a Huge Douchebag

"No; it's fine, I can just take my truck," I argued with Sam, "The drive isn't all that long, anyways."

"But it's a sixteen hour drive," Sam retorted, "There's no way you'll want to drive that long."

"I've lived with myself for twenty-one years, Sam, I'll be fine. I've driven for twenty-two solid hours without stopping before, and that was when I was trying to get away from a nest of vampires. This is going to be a much more relaxed drive, and I'll be able to stop; it's kind of you to be concerned, but you really don't have to be." I continued down the steps of the base, out to my truck, where I was loading all my personal belongings. It was roughly two weeks after my conversation with Jack and the president and it was the afternoon before we ventured to the new base. I had finally gotten used to the idea of living with four other men roughly my age. I wasn't too worried about Castiel or Dean, considering they were in a very committed relationship with one another, but Sam and Cody were a different story. I was still positive that Sam liked me more that I maybe wanted him to and Cody was just desperate to make Erin jealous. Well, since their, uh, fairly passionate kiss on New Year's Eve, she and Cody didn't really talk, but I noticed them eyeing one another a lot, and Cody _definitely_ eyed Erin when she wasn't looking. It was just blatantly obvious. He also got this cute look on his face when she talked to him. But, ever since, my fiasco of a twenty-first birthday, Cody had been going out of his way to get Erin's attention and make her jealous. Why since my birthday? Well, if you remember how I, uh, beat up that one guy, Alex, you'll also remember that he had a buddy who was flirting pretty hard with Erin, and she was flirting right back. And boy, did that make Cody mad. He went out of his was to tell Erin he 'would be out that evening because he had a date', but I can tell you that about three-fourths of the time he told her that, he ended up hiding in the Gadget's Room, with me laughing at him. I promised I wouldn't tell Erin, and I didn't.

What Sam and I were arguing about was that he wanted to ride along in the truck with me so I didn't have to drive the entire time. What I was _attempting_ to get across to him was that I would be fine driving by myself, but he just didn't seem to get that. I didn't just want to flat-out tell him I didn't want him riding in the same vehicle as me, but I was running out of excuses to tell him. Then a thought struck me. I started taking all of my personal belongings, which were in a pile next to my truck, and started packing them in the front of the truck, instead of the flatbed.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked confused, "There's plenty of space in the back."

"I know," I replied calmly, "However, I only really need the passenger's seat of my truck for my personal belongings, and then I'll have the entire backend of the truck for other things that need to go along, like my equipment."

"But if you pack everything in the front," Sam complained, "Then no one will be able to ride with you."

"I understand that," I said patiently as I nestled a box of my books from Bobby in the foot area of the passenger's side. I then packed in a few smaller boxes with some miscellaneous personal things on top of the box.

"Won't you be lonely?" Sam asked while I set a box containing my latest gadget I was working on in the passenger seat.

"Nope," I replied bluntly and I packed my duffel bag into the mix, "I was on my own for three years. A few hours won't bother me. Also a reminder that I was always by myself the first year or so I was here."

"Has it been that long already?" he asked me, surprised.

"Uh… a year and five months, yeah," I quickly calculated in my head. _A year and five months?_ Wow. It didn't seem quite that long. I finally finished loading the passenger's seat with stuff and Sam just sort of stared opened-mouthed.

"How in hell did you manage to fit that entire pile of stuff in your front seat?" he asked in awe.

"Practice," was my vague reply. I walked back in the house and went to the gadget's room. I had spent a total of ten hours packing everything I had gathered in the past year and a half, and let me tell you, there was a lot already, but just two days before Jack had given me literally eighteen boxed full of random scrap metal and broken gadgets and technological devices and there was so much stuff I had literally started crying because it hit me that for the first time in my life I had more than I needed and it was really overwhelming. I think I frightened Jack by my sudden emotions and I think I surprised him even more – and myself – when I hugged him. "Thanks," I sniffed, "For everything you've done."

He folded me in his arms and said gently, "You're welcome. But really, it's me who should be thanking you; you've done so much for this base, and made it stronger than ever before." He unlocked me from his embrace and put his hands on my shoulders and grinned, "And you saved us all from endless TV dinners and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches." I smiled and he grinned wider, informing me, "You're absolutely gorgeous when you smile. You should try doing it more often." He whispered to me, "I'm sure Sam would say the same." What was it about Sam and me that everyone was so interested in? I didn't get it.

I smiled anyway and nodded, "Sure, Jack."

Well, I wasn't smiling the day we were supposed to leave when I was trying to assure Sam, _again,_ that I could handle a sixteen-hour drive by myself. He continued to prompt me about it as he helped me load the last boxes of technological equipment into the back of my truck; "Or I could drive your truck and you could ride with Dean, Cas, and Cody," he suggested, "You deserve to rest; you do so much for us already, you don't have to drive all of our crap to Illinois." It was at that point in the conversation that I figured out Sam didn't necessarily want to get me alone; he genuinely _cared_ about me, which I would have expected to freak me out, but it didn't. It made my heart pace just a little faster, made my cheeks a little pinker, my heart a little warmer. "That's okay, Sam," I replied, "I don't mind," I told him honestly, "I really would rather drive by myself, if that's okay."

"Of course it's okay," Sam answered surprised, "Just… give me a call if you get tired, okay? Then you and I can switch so you can rest."

I nodded and thanked him, "Okay. Thanks. I'll be inside if you need me." _If he needed me? Why would he need me? Where had that come from?_ I sighed internally and continued to go inside. Once I got there, I grinned at Erin and she grinned back and said warmly,

"It's nice to see you so happy, Sara."

"I think I'm just awaiting this move with anticipation," I blushed.

Winking, she asked, "And why's that?"

" _No_ ," I said firmly, but it was a lighthearted tone. I elaborated, "It's because I finally feel like I have something I'm supposed to do with my life; a purpose. I've been looking for a purpose for my entire life, and I think this might be it."

She smiled and hugged me and whispered in my ear, "He might be it, too, you know. You should try giving him a chance."

"I will if I feel like that's something I can handle," I told her quietly as we withdrew from one another's arms, "Right now, I'm just going to focus on getting there, settling in, and organizing everything, then starting my job on the right track. An entire base is a lot to handle, especially when you have the pressure of the national government watching what you do. Not to mention," I added with a somewhat playful grimace, "when you have four fully-grown men under you wing."

"Well, I hope you have a safe drive; all of you," Erin laughed, "Once you get a video camera or whatever crazy thing you might build to video chat us is set up, give us a call, okay? I'm not moving for a while; apparently the, uh, President wants your base up and running smoothly before he wants ours. But no pressure," she added, winking.

"Oh, great," I sighed, "Just one more thing I have to worry about." I twisted my long hair in my hands. It had gotten really long – about waist-length – and I had thought maybe I should get it cut, but getting it cut would lose one of my connections to Danny. But it was just _hair._ It would grow back.

"Hey," Erin consoled me, "Jack wouldn't have asked you to do this if he didn't believe that you could. I believe that you can, and I can honestly tell you that no one is complaining about you being the new base head. To be frank, a few other people that were in the running – Ianto and that guy, Jim from IT – were hoping that you'd get it."

"Why?" I asked confused, "Because they didn't want the job?" Worriedly, a thought occurred to me, "Or because they don't like me, thus not wanting me around?"

"No," she laughed, "it's because you're downright brilliant and you are probably the smartest person we've ever met."

"Oh," I said, surprised, "Thanks."

"If you ever need anything," she told me, "All you have to do is call, and I'll do my best to help."

I nodded and replied, "The same goes for you."

"Thanks," she grinned, and I departed from the base. I didn't know it then, but it would be the last time I would ever be there.

The drive wasn't as tedious as Sam was trying to convince me it would be. It was actually really relaxing. I rolled my windows down – it was March, and there was a nice, cool breeze – and I turned the radio up and sang along every once in a while. I had anticipated a strong wind, and so my hair was back in a pretty messy bun which gradually became more windswept as the hours passed. The guys followed behind me in Dean's old Impala, which he liked to call his 'baby' (which I found to be a little weird, but whatever). I have no idea why they wanted to take one car, because they were all fully grown men, all over six feet tall, and they all wanted to cramp into a Chevrolet from the 60s. I didn't understand. Later, I found out that Cody didn't have a car, and Cas technically could have just… disappeared from the base in Boston and reappeared at the base in Wheaton, what with his angel… mojo, or whatever you wanted to call it, but Cas insisted on staying with either Dean or I (cute), and since he couldn't fit in my truck, he rode with the other guys. I'm sure they had a good time listening to Black Sabbath or Metallica or whatever it was Dean listened to. He seemed like someone who would be into what my mom used to call 'mullet rock'.

Once we had been driving for about 11 hours, with a stop or two in between, Sam called me up, "Hey," he greeted, "There's a hotel a few miles of the upcoming exit, and we were thinking about stopping for the night."

I glanced at the clock. It was only 9pm, and there was about a five-hour drive left. Cake. I replied, "Okay. I'm going to keep going."

"What?" Sam asked me in disbelief, "But then you'll be driving until…"

"About two in the morning," I supplied, "Which, trust me, is not late. I usually stay up until at least three in the morning, sometimes I never go to bed. I'm fine. I don't need a lot of rest."

" _What_?" he asked again, sounding slightly alarmed.

"Calm down," I said calmly, "I haven't gotten over five hours of sleep in one go for at least ten years. I'm used to it. It's fine."

"That's definitely not healthy," Sam said.

"No, probably not," I agreed, "But I'll be fine."

"I really think it would be better if you stopped and got some sleep," he pleaded.

"Sam," I said patiently, "I am _okay_. I'll be fine. Don't worry. And the sooner we get all this equipment to the base, the better. I'm fine."

"Dude, calm down," I heard Dean say from the background, "She's a grown woman. She can do whatever the hell she wants, including beat you up if she wanted to."

I remained silent, grinning a bit and finally Sam huffed, "Fine. Just… if you get tired, get to a hotel, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed.

"Promise?" He asked, insistent.

I heard Dean sigh and I promised, "Yes. If I get tired, I promise I'll stop at a hotel. I'll text you when I get to base."

"Okay," I said and hung up the phone. I shook my head, grinning a bit. Sam Winchester was going to be the death of me.


	27. What the Fuck Jack

After I hung up with Sam, I saw them pull off of the highway, exiting down a ramp. What I had told Sam was true; that I didn't need a lot of sleep and that I really could last pretty much all night driving. Two am was nothing. However, one thing I had forgotten to ask Jack about was the security surrounding the base; was there any? If so, how much? Did I need any special equipment to get in? Worry flooding into my mind, I called Jack.

"What's up, Sara?" he asked as he answered.

"How do we get in?" I asked.

"Are you there already?" he sounded surprised.

"Oh, no, no," I assured him, "I'm still about four and a half hours out. The guys have stopped for the night, but I want to get there."

"In one go?" he asked in disbelief.

"In one go," I confirmed.

"Okay. To get in… when you reach the base, there'll be a mailbox out front and –"

"It's a house?" I asked, confused.

"It looks like a house," Jack corrected me, "It's one of those things that's 'hidden in plain sight'; you're going to be stationed in-town, so we needed to have a good cover. Yes, it looks like a house; but it's not."

"Okay. Sorry for interrupting. So in the mailbox…?"

"In the mailbox," he repeated, "You'll find an envelope. In the envelope there will be a retinal scanner. Use it, and two keys will pop out. One key will be red, the other is blue. Use the red key to unlock the deadbolt, and the blue to unlock the actual door."

"What if I switch it up or only use one key?" I asked curiously.

"When you open the door, it'll just be a plain house. The same thing will happen if someone breaks in. The only way to get into the base is to make sure that you use both keys correctly," Jack seriously informed me.

"Got it," I said, "So red for deadbolt, blue for door handle."

"Right," he agreed.

"Great."

"Is that it?"

"Yes, sir."

I could hear the grin in his voice as he answered, "You don't need to call me 'sir' anymore, Sara. We're co-workers now. I'm not your boss. You can just call me Jack."

"True," I acknowledged, "Alright, thank you, Jack."

"No problem, sweetheart. Drive safe."

"Thank you. Talk to you later."

At 2:19am, on the 23rd of March, 2011, I arrived at the base. Or, rather, the house that was the base. It was a cute little thing; two stories, dark blue with white trim and shutters, a blue door, black shingles. I liked it. I parked my truck in the driveway and slowly climbed out, cracking my back. God, I was so stiff. I hadn't stopped for eight hours straight, which was a long-haul. But I had made it. I remembered what Jack had said, and went straight to the mailbox, which was one of those little ones that hung right by the door. I opened it and inside was a package – just like Jack had said. I carefully opened it, and found the retinal scanner. Setting the box on the ground, I flipped the scanner on. I scanned my eyes – an unexpected plot twist, I know – and a green light flashed after a moment, showing that the scan was accepted. A small drawer popped out the side of the scanner, and in the drawer was a key ring with two keys on it. I took the keys out of the box and took a deep breath. Red for deadbolt. Blue for actual door. I inserted the red key into the deadbolt and nervously turned the key until I heard a faint 'click'. Then I took the blue key, which was the exact color of the house, and turned it in the door handle lock until another faint 'click' sounded. I held my breath, waiting. Nothing happened. I frowned. Maybe I had done it wrong? Or maybe nothing was supposed to happen. Maybe nothing was supposed to happen? I gently turned the door handle and opened the door. I shut the door and turned around, clicking on a flashlight so I could see.

I gasped in dismay. It looked… half-finished. It was a half-finished base. There weren't any electrical lines or pipes exposed, but there were no lamps or lighting that I could see – I couldn't see a lot, mind you, it was night and all I had was a flashlight – and the hardwood flooring was scuffed and the walls were white. It was a shell. And I was going to have to fix it all. I had been around Sam and Dean long enough to know they knew nothing about fixing things, except for Dean's car. Cas could barely function an electric plug sometime which was fine, since he was a celestial being, and then Cody just… knew how to fix people. But he couldn't fix anything else. So that left me. Great. I decided, however, I could have the luxury of taking a walk around for a bit before I actually got to work.

The base was huge. Thankfully, there was a blueprint tacked to a wall right by the door, so I was able to see just where everything was located. There were eight bedrooms with a full bathroom connected to each one, a gigantic medical 'bay', I guess you could call it, as it was on the far end of the base, sort of just… there, a huge kitchen connected to a dining room, a, uh, _living_ room, and two huge labs, one purely for technological development, and another for research of any sort. Twenty-one rooms; Twenty-one rooms and I was going to have to make them all fully-functional. Nice.

I found the bedroom that was closest to the technology lab, and decided that's where my room was going to be. It wasn't the biggest bedroom, by far, but it was a fairly nice size. I dug around in one of my coat pockets and pulled out a Sharpie. I did, indeed, keep a Sharpie or some sort of marker on my person at all times, in case I needed to make a devil's trap. A while back, I heard Sam and Dean saying they used spray paint, but Sharpies were a lot more portable and easier to buy. And cheaper, too. They also worked just as well as spray paint would, so there's your explanation.

After uncapping the Sharpie, I wrote _Sarah_ in neat, small handwriting over the picture of my bedroom. Putting the cap back on the marker, I pocketed it, and meandered down to where my new room was. I poked my head in each of the rooms on the way; each bedroom had an unmade bed in it, and there was a fully installed sink, toilet, and shower in each of the connecting bathrooms. Two or three of the bathrooms had bathtubs, too. The kitchen had a stove and oven, a fridge, and unfinished cabinets. Okay…The research lab was the most complete room in the entire base; it had desks and chairs and eight computers. The walls were a nice creamy-tan color, and the floor was cement, but that was okay. Cement in a research lab was probably a good thing. Each computer had its own table with cabinets under said table, for storing chemicals and lab equipment and other miscellaneous items. I took a detour to the med bay and saw it was mostly done, to my relief. It had a dozen hospital beds, plenty of IV stands, lots of complicated medical machines that I didn't really recognize. I did see an X-Ray room, and an examination table, and a side room where surgeries could be performed. It looked like a generic doctor's office or a hospital room; tile flooring, white walls with that wallpaper trim at the top of the wall, very clean, very sterile. I decided that I wouldn't touch the med bay. I'd let Cody take over. He'd be fine restocking and organizing his home turf.

Finally, I decided to head to where _my_ lab was, and where my room was. As I made my way there, I hoped that the technological development lab (or TDL, as it was abbreviated on the blueprint) was about as nice as the med bay and the research lab. I finally reached the TDL and stood in front of the closed door, nervous with anticipation. I slowly, slowly reached for the handle, and all at once my curiosity took over and I threw open the door. Light flooded my vision. Lights! And motion-censored ones at that. As my eyes adjusted, I let out a small squeal of delight.

The room was… it was… fantastic. Utterly fantastic. The ceiling soared up what was probably sixteen feet, the entire room was pure tungsten. No joke; the walls had sheets of matte tungsten tacked to them, the floor was tungsten… it was pretty indestructible.

What is tungsten? Well, 'tungsten' is a Swedish word that means 'heavy stone', which is basically what it is; a heavy metal that was stronger and heavier than stone. Tungsten is also called 'wolfram'. I don't know why, though. Anyways. It's the 74th element on the periodic table, and it's chemical symbol is a 'W'. Tungsten has a melting point of 3,422 degrees Celsius, which is the same as 6,191 degrees Fahrenheit, about thirty times _greater_ than the boiling point of water. It's density is almost twenty times greater than that of water and – sorry. Uh, it looks silvery. It's a little darker than actual silver, though. Sort of a black-silver. However, whoever installed the tungsten into the room had put some sort of matte finish on it, so you weren't blinded every time you were in the room. Tungsten is really very pricey, at $2.95 per 100g. So coating a room that appeared at a glance to be 20x30x16 had to have cost an astronomical amount. I assumed the tungsten was just a coating, probably an inch thick. I also calculated quickly in my head that one hundred grams of any substance would cover about six cubic inches, therefore needing two hundred grams of tungsten per foot. Thus being said, I figured it would have cost Torchwood near $16,520 to coat the room.

Yeah. A lot of money.

Thus concludes the science and math lessons for the day.

So I was blown away by how much the coating for the walls itself cost, but the lab equipment was… phenomenal. There were fire proof lab tables (there were in the other lab, too, forgot to mention that), and cabinets everywhere. Ugh, it was gorgeous. I was already mentally organizing where everything went. I reluctantly pulled myself away and moved onto my room. It wasn't quite as exciting, but it was certainly nice. The walls were painted a nice light shade of gray-blue – not quite as blue as the sky, but not quite as gray as the ocean after a storm. A nice desk sat in the corner; a place I could put my laptop and drawing supplies. There was a very nice, large, double bed. The hardwood flooring was a pleasant butter brown and the bathroom was lovely, too; a beautiful iridescent floor with tiles no bigger than stamps, a white marble sink and a large, marble bathtub. There was a shower that turned out to be sort of like a waterfall if I changed the showerhead setting correctly. The bathtub also had jets, so I could make it a Jacuzzi if I wanted to. There was a nice large mirror, a bunch of candles (of all things), and the walls were a faint shade of green. It was beautiful. I just called a bathroom beautiful, didn't I? Time to stop describing things.

Once I had thoroughly explored my room, the closet in my room – which turned out to be a walk-in that I thought was neat – and the bathroom, I decided it was time to bring all the equipment in. By that time, it was just after three in the morning, and pretty dark, but I knew I could handle it. My first goal was to get some lights working in the entry hall, however. I tramped back towards the front door, feeling very alone. It was weird – being alone – after constantly living with other people for the past year and a half. I went out to my truck and dug around in the flatbed for awhile, before coming up with the supplies I needed. I carried it all back inside, and by the glow of a flashlight, I built a lamp. As I worked, I thought about my life. It had changed so much since I had started working for Jack. It had gotten so much _better_. And while I worked, I realized I didn't like being alone. The immense vastness of the base and the unyielding darkness were making me nervous. I've said before I wasn't afraid of the dark. Well, I was then. How much had I actually seen of the base? How did I know that I was, in fact, alone? I didn't, and that was the reality of the situation; I didn't know if I was alone, and that worried me. As I came to realize that, I also came to realize I savored having people around me. I liked knowing that there were people who would defend me if the time came, that they cared about me. We were a bunch of psychotic killers that all had our issues, and we would die for each other. I surprised myself when I realized that, I would, actually, die for everyone I had lived with at Torchwood. _I suppose that means something,_ I told myself as the lamp I had just built flickered to life. After I had duct-taped the lamp to the wall, I took another look around. I realized, delightedly, that the ceiling actually had lighting. I looked around in earnest for a light switch. I frowned as I tried to find one. After a time, a thought occurred to me; _Jack, you've got to be kidding me._ Feeling foolish, I clapped twice. Lighting flooded the entryway, making me blink, and I sighed. Nice.

Having that problem solved, I unstuck my homemade lamp from the wall and instead brought it outside, so that I had some lighting while I carried everything in. I decided to start with my own personal belongings. It only took me three trips to get everything from the front of the truck inside; I could wear a backpack, have a duffel bag slung over my shoulder, and carry a box, all at one time. Then I had to get my two other boxes inside, one of them being the box containing all of Bobby's books; my books. _My_ books.

As soon as I finished hauling my personal belongings in, a wave of tiredness washed over me, hitting me with full force. I looked at my watch; 3:30am. I could catch a few hours of sleep; that would be okay. I could unload the trailer tomorrow.

I looked at the bed, tiredly contemplating what to do. I didn't have any sheets; I was going to have to buy some new ones for everyone. But not at three-thirty in the morning. I passively thought about getting out a jacket to use as a blanket, but that would take too much energy. So I just laid down on the naked mattress, my hair fanning out in every direction, and within minutes, I was asleep.


	28. IT SMELLS LIKE HOME IMPROVEMENT

" _Seven am, wakin' up in the morning,/ gotta go downstairs, gotta have my bowl, gotta have my cereal… It's Friday, Friday! Gotta get down on Friday! Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend! Weekend!"_ is what awoke me three hours later, as my radio alarm went off on my watch, Rebecca Black's voice filling my ears with her young, nasally, teenage voice. I hit the button that turned my alarm off, and blearily sat up. Why was that song playing? It was a _Wednesday_ , for goodness' sake. It was also five am, not seven. Whatever. I yawned and stretched, rolling of my bed. I dug through my duffel bag, pulled out a towel and my shower supplies, and proceeded to take the best shower I had had to date. The shower was a _waterfall._ You couldn't get much greater than that. Once I had dried off and changed, I ate a luxurious breakfast of granola bars, and got to work.

I pulled my wet hair back in a single braid, then set about putting all my own belongings away. I started by pulling my laptop out and setting it on the desk over in the corner, plugging it in to charge.

I was so unsure about the walk-in closet, not because I was suspicious, but because it was so _big_ and I literally could fit everything I owned in it. I pulled out all my clothes from my two duffel bags that I had stored them in, and sorted them out on the bed before realizing I didn't have any hangers to put them on. I opened my closet and peered around for hangers. I didn't find any, but I did find another door. Hm. That was _not_ listed on the blueprint. I curiously walked to the door, which was partially hidden behind a bookcase – oh, look, a book case, I would have to go back and move that later – and turned the handle. It was unlocked. Holding my breath, I carefully opened the door inwards, and immediately sneezed.

Dust. Dust everywhere. If this base was new, why was there so much dust? As I ventured farther into this extra room, I realized something; Jack had never said the building was new. He just said it was a 'new base'. Hm. Maybe… I think I had just stumbled upon an abandoned section of an older base. It was… huge. About as big as… as… one of the laboratories.

"Cool," I whispered. My voice echoed in the semi-darkness, my flashlight the only sliver of light. I walked back to the door and found a light switch. I had figured there would be a light switch, and not this 'clap on, clap off' nonsense, since the room was obviously older. I flipped the switch, turned around, and caught my breath.

It was utterly empty.

Just me.

Well, me and a layer of dust on the floor. But it was empty. I could… I could put _anything_ in there I wanted. Like my painting and drawing supplies. It could be my art room. I could hang my artwork on the walls – no. I could paint my paintings _on_ the walls. I could paint on the ceiling. I could paint on the floor, if I wanted. I could do whatever I wanted, and no one would know about it. I shrieked excitedly, my voice echoing off the walls, and I started in surprise. First, though, I needed to sweep. With a broom I didn't have.

Time to go shopping.

Oh, God. I was in a Target for the first time in my life, and it was terrifying.

There were just so many _things_ I needed to get, and so much _stuff_ and I just had no idea where to start. Sheets. We needed sheets. Sheets and towels and curtains and – my cell phone rang. It was Dean.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Sara?" Dean asked, "You okay?"

"Uh… yeah, I'm fine," I assured him, scrutinizing different sheets, trying to figure out what colors and designs to get for the boys, and what sort of comforters, and what kind of pillows they would want and –

"Sara," Dean interrupted me.

"What?"

"Did you hear what I just said?"

"Uh, no," I admitted.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at a Target… why? Where are you?"

"That's the thing," Dean started to say, "We – wait. A Target? You're _shopping_?"

"Yes," I sighed, "For things to put in the base. It's sort of… half finished." I tossed in dark blue sheets for Sam, white-and-cerulean striped for Dean, green ones for Cody, coffee colored ones for Cas (even though he didn't sleep), light blue ones for me, and then some extra cream-colored ones for the other rooms, along with accompanying bedspreads that matched the sheets.

"Okay," Dean said, "Well, we don't think we're going to be at the base as soon as we thought. We found a job out here."

"By the hotel you guys stopped at last night?" I inquired, laying sets of bath towels into the shopping cart I had.

"Right," Dean agreed, "It's pretty big, so…"

"So go take care of it," I said lightly, "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you sleep on your back or on your stomach?"

" _What?_ "

"Well, I'm looking at pillows, and they have ones for people who sleep on their sides, their back, their stomach… And I need to know how you guys sleep so I get you the right pillows."

"Oh, my God," Dean groaned, "Okay… Well…" he sighed and muttered, "I sleep on my back, and so does Sammy."

" _What?_ " I heard Sam's voice in the background.

"Sara wants to know how we sleep so she can _buy us the right pillows_ ," Dean groused.

"I sleep on my side!" I heard Cody yell.

"I do not participate in the human action of sleeping," Cas informed me.

"Right, okay," I said, grinning, tossing the appropriate, "Thanks."

"Anything else?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"Yes," I said, "How long do you think you'll be?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly, "At least three or four days."

"Alright," I conceded, "Just keep me updated."

"Alright," Dean echoed, "See you later, Sara."

"Bye," I said, and Dean hung up. I slipped the phone back in my pocket and checked my watch; 9:30am. I was making good progress. I needed curtains. Why was shopping so hard? There were so many things to choose from, and I had basically an unlimited amount of money since Torchwood was supplying me with extra money for setting up the base, but my money-saving soul was not letting me buy the most luxurious things, which was probably fine. I tossed in eight sets of curtains, all colors that matched the bedspreads; dark blue and lighter blue and green and brown and cream and then purple for me because my bedspread had blues and purples in it. What else did I need for bedrooms? Trashcans and desks? I'd think about that more. I at least needed a vacuum and a broom and a dustbin. Oh, and a mop. I could get those. Oh, and an ironing board and an iron. And I'd probably need to get a washing machine and a dryer, but not at the Target. I made a mental checklist of everything I needed. I found three nice brooms (since the base was so big) and the dustbins, a mop, and an ironing board and an iron, and eight smaller wastebaskets for the separate bedrooms, and then my cart was full. Okay… so… what did you do when your cart was full and you still needed more stuff? Did I checkout? I guess I would checkout, load everything in the truck, and then go back inside and get what I needed.

The lady at the checkout line gave me a very strange look, which I guess I deserved; a small, twenty-one year old girl buying enough bed sheets and towels for a small army. I realized I was college-aged, and I probably wasn't supposed to be able to buy copious amounts of stuff like that. Oh, well.

I walked back to my truck with my cart, and loaded everything I had bought into it, and put the cart back in the little cart area in the parking lot. I decided to go to the Home Depot. I like the Home Depot. I went there a lot, for pieces to build things with. The Home Depot was my turf. I love the way it smells; all the unfinished projects just waiting to happen; the cans of paint waiting to be mixed and used, the lights, the screws and bolts. Ugh, it made me shiver with happiness. It still does. The Home Depot.

How much do I love the Home Depot? Let me tell you; Once, when I was eighteen, I spent a solid three hours in a Home Depot, talking to the manager about how they could rearrange everything so they could fit more stuff. He thought was crazy, but I bought a pad of blueprint paper and drew it out for him, and it turned out I was right. He kept my blueprint and gave me a _four hundred dollar gift card._ I was so excited, and so I spent four more hours at the Home Depot, running around and buying all sorts of sheets of metal, and wire and basically that every engineer girl wants. It was amazing. The staff nicknamed me 'The Home Depot Girl' and they took a picture of me with the blue print. I went back a year or so later, and they had rearranged the store like I had suggested, and my picture with the blueprint was hanging on the wall. That's right. I have a picture of myself at a Home Depot in Nashville, Tennessee.

At said Home Depot, I bought seven desks first, one for each of the rooms – there was already a desk in my room for some reason; I didn't know out why – and I also found a really nice vacuum cleaner. After purchasing those bulk items, I went back in and looked at paint for each other the rooms.

I figured I would paint Sam's room a color that turned out to be called 'Jasmine,' which was a light yellow color with a hint of orange; sort of a pale gold, which would accent his dark blue bedspread wonderfully. I picked up a sort of an aqua color for Dean's room, one that was a few shades lighter than his bedspread. I was good at remembering what colors looked like _exactly_ ; I didn't need fabric swatches with me; I could just _see_ the color I wanted in my head. Cody's room would be a latte color, with an accent wall like chocolate, which would give his room an earthy feel, with his forest green bedspread. I only wanted one of the walls a darker color though, since his bedspread _was_ so dark, I didn't want the deep colors to shrink the room. And Cas' room… I would paint his walls a light green; not a green that was yellow based, but sort of a pistachio color; one that went well with brown, like his bedspread. I decided that since the extra rooms had cream colored bedspreads, I could branch out a bit with the different wall colors; one I would paint a mauve, another a sky blue, and another a light yellow-orange. And for my room… my bedspread was the most intricate, because I knew what I wanted. It was a beautiful periwinkle blue, laced with streaks of varying shades of lilac, sort of creating a wispy pattern that I liked quite a bit. I decided to paint my walls a very, very light shade of lilac; a sort of pink-gray-purple. And I would paint the inside of my bedroom door and then my closet door periwinkle blue, for a splash of accent color. White would trim all of the bedrooms.

Next, I needed color schemes for the kitchen and the living room. I had peeked in all the bathrooms and they were all finished completely, which was actually nice. That was literally eight less rooms I had to worry about. Not to mention I didn't need to worry about the labs or the med bay. Or the hallways, since those were just white and weren't really in need of a paint job.

Kitchen. Hm. I thought about what would look good. I grinned after a moment. Sepia walls sponged with gold would look very nice, especially if I bought wood stain and stained the kitchen cabinets darker. And the living room I figured I would paint a lighter shade of brown, maybe a coffee foam brown. Of course coffee foam is a color. Have you seen what coffee foam looks like? It's a beautiful color. And so as an accent to the _coffee foam brown_ walls, I would also add an apple green wall. It would be great. I loaded all the cans of paint into the cart once I got them all mixed; all twenty-seven gallons' worth. The 20s-something guy at the paint station kept laughing whenever I added, "Oh, and I'd like two gallons of this, and a gallon of this," and so on. I also got a gallon of wood stain for the kitchen cabinets, and seven gallons of primer.

"You painting an entire house, ma'am?" he joked.

"Yep," I agreed, "A very big one."

He paused a moment, and when he realized I was serious, he whistled, "You'd better make sure your boyfriend helps you."

I laughed, "Sure. I would if I had one." I finished loading the paint cans in the cart and he grinned,

"Well, if you ever need one, I'd be glad to help you out."

I laughed nicely and said, "Thank you. I'll be sure to remember that."

As I walked away, he called, "My name's Patrick, by the way, and you're one of the most gorgeous women I've ever met!"

I stopped and grinned over my shoulder, "You don't look so bad yourself! My name's Sara. I hope you have wonderful day." And away I went, my braid swinging down my back. I really needed to cut my hair. Hm. I should do that before the guys got back.

Wait. Had I just flirted with a guy I didn't even know? Wow. I guess I was breaking out of my shell. I didn't have time to focus on that, though. I had to focus on calming down the cashier who was in laughing hysterics over my thirty-five gallons of paint.

"Honey," she laughed, "I have no idea what you're goin' to do with all this paint, but when you use it up, you take a picture and you bring it back here and ask for Mickey and make sure you show me, m'kay?"

"Sure," I grinned.

Like I said, Home Depot was my turf.

By the time I got back to the base it was one pm. I had gone through the drive-thru at McDonald's and picked up a salad and some iced tea, so I had eaten already. I carried everything in and I got get right to work. First I swept and vacuumed all the rooms I was going to be working on (the bedrooms, the kitchen, the living room, and my painting room), and then I mopped. That took about two hours. Three-thirty pm rolled around, and I got painting.

It. Was. Gruesome.

First I had to cover all the walls in primer, just one coat, thankfully, which alone took fourteen hours.

Fourteen. Hours.

For priming the walls.

Oh, my God.

I stopped painting at eight pm, and then again at one am to eat some food, but then got back at it. I convinced myself to finish priming, and _then_ I could go to bed. Priming the bedrooms was pretty easy, since they were basically just four walls, with a window here, and a closet door there. My painting room and the living room was pretty much the same. The kitchen, however… Well, it did have cabinets, didn't it?

Fourteen hours. I mean, the bright side was that I had music to listen to; what with my radio on my watch, my still. Fourteen hours.

I finally finished priming the walls at five twenty-seven in the morning. I remember finally finishing priming the last room, and I literally burst into tears of relief. I didn't even have the energy to walk back to my room. I just shut the can of primer, washed the brush I was using out, and I laid down on the bare mattress, for the second night in a row, and I fell asleep.

Nine am came, and I woke up. I didn't even bother taking a shower, because I was just going to be painting more that day, so what was the point? Anyways. I ate a few more granola bars, then got to painting the kitchen, which was going to be the most time consuming, and the room that we were going to use the most. As I was painting the walls sepia, I thought about my mom and dad. "Where did you get all this money?" the cashier from Target asked me the day before when I handed her my debit card and she swiped it.

"My dad's a government worker," I replied. She scoffed a little and just gave me my total, an astronomical amount I do not want to repeat.

And so as I painted the kitchen, I thought of my dad. I hadn't exactly told a lie when I said he was a government worker. The biggest lie about that statement was the fact I had used present tense, when Dad was actually dead. Oh, well.

I finished painting the first coat of paint on the kitchen walls, and then decided I should probably figure out where the boys' rooms would be. I thought it only logical to have Cody's room be the closest to the med bay. I knew Sam really loved to research different things, so his room went by the research lab, but where to put Dean and Cas? I ended up putting Dean in the room closest to the kitchen because he liked eating and Cas' room right next to his. I knew Cas didn't sleep, but he and Dean… never mind. I didn't want to think about what he and Dean did.

I labeled their names on the blueprint, and then put sticky notes in each of their rooms with the appropriate name written on it.

Then I went to work painting on what would be Dean's room; that nice aqua blue that sort of reminded me of the Caribbean Sea. It did. I don't care if that's cheesy. Once I had finished the first coat in Dean's room, I went and did the first coat in Cas' room. Then I went back to the kitchen and did the second sepia coat. Then back to Dean's room. Then back to Cas' room. I suppose I should mention that when I say 'I painted the kitchen' I mean that I painted the kitchen _and_ the dining room, since they were one room. I had decided I would wait until the next day to sponge paint the kitchen. Double-coating those three rooms… took me fourteen hours. I finished the second coat in Cas' room around 1:47am. The cleanup regime was the same as the night before; close all the paint cans, wash out the brushes. Then I fell on a bare bed again, exhausted, out cold within ten minutes.

My phone was ringing. I checked my watch; 6am. Groaning, I rolled off my side and blearily looked to see who was calling; Sam. I answered and tried to sound awake; "Hello?"

"Hey, Sara," Sam greeted me, sounding alert, "How are things over there?"

"Good, I replied, "I've swept and mopped everything, and I've been painting the past two days. I've also bought sheets, towels, curtains, that sort of thing. How about you guys?"

There was silence a moment and Sam asked, ""How much have you painted?"

"Well," I said, wondering if I had gotten enough finished, "I've covered all the walls I'm going to cover in a coat of primer, and I got two coats done in the kitchen and dining room, and I also finished the walls of Dean's and Cas' rooms. I haven't done any trim or anything yet. There are seven more rooms I need to paint, and then I was going to do all the trim, so I suspect it will take me another three days or so to finish everything. And then I was going to wood stain the cabinets in the kitchen, and I'll get you guys' beds put together by the time you get here, I promise. And then I can start shopping for plates and furniture and stuff. Sorry I'm taking so long, I –"

"Oh, my God," Sam cut me off, "You can relax a little. For one thing, we don't have a deadline by the time we need to have the base done. You don't have to try and finish everything by the time we get there, and when we do, we can help you."

Oh, man. NO. That was not going to happen. None of those boys had ever painted in their life, except for demon circles, but no way were we decorating our walls with those. "Okay," I said, "When do you think you'll be getting back?"

"That's why I called," Sam explained to me, "We're not going to get back as soon as we had hoped."

"Kay," I said, "What's happening?"

"Well…. Nothing right now," Sam said, "I've been doing a ton of research as to what this thing might be, but I can't seem to find… it's definitely a demon."

"Yeah? What makes you say that?"

"Well, all of these graves have been desecrated."

"But not by you?" I asked with a faint note of amusement in my voice.

"No," Sam said, flustered, "It's all new ones. Ones that have been buried within the past year."

"Interesting," I said, "And you're sure this is a demon?"

"Yes," Sam confirmed, "We spotted sulfur residue at each of the graves."

"What… is this demon doing? With the bodies?"

"Oh, uh… well…" Sam sounded disgusted, "It's eating them."

"Come again?"

"Yeah," he repeated, "It's eating them."

"That's… revolting," I acknowledged, "And you know it's eating them... because…" I didn't really want to know, but I had an idea of who I are demon might have been, so I needed to know.

"He… it… uh," Sam stuttered, sounding nauseous, "Eats the, um… internal organs after wrapping them… in.. uh…"

"The skin?" I finished, "He rips off chunks of integument and wraps the heart and liver and other stuff in it?"

"Yes," Sam agreed, "That."

"It's Eurynomus," I informed him.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Eurynomus. He's a Prince of Hell, and he likes feeding on the dead in such a fashion as what you guys have been seeing."

"So what do we do?" Sam asked worried.

"Just camp out in the cemetery and wait till he starts digging up a grave. You'll want to wait until he's … uh… eating… the…"

"Right," Sam said quickly, "And then we just exorcise him?"

"Yeah, pretty much," I said.

"…Great," he said after a moment.

"What?" I asked.

"It's just… we camped out last night… and no one came… but then this morning, there were three desecrated graves"

"Whoa, wait hold, up," I cut in, "So you _watched_ but nothing dug up the graves."

"Right."

"And you were watching the graves that were desecrated?"

"Uh… no."

"Then he probably just dug them up using his demonic powers or whatever. It didn't have to make noise."

"Right."

"So what's the issue?"

"Well, just… if we can't hear him… how are we supposed to find him? I mean… we can't use flashlights or…"

"In the trunk of Dean's car," I instructed, "There is a box I have labeled, 'Stuff' and –"

"It's labeled 'Stuff'?" Sam asked incredulously.

" _Yes,_ " I affirmed, "It's labeled 'Stuff." Go and take it out."

"Okay…" Sam said, "Be right back." He voice suddenly sounded slightly farther away, as if he was talking to someone else; "Sara has something that can help us. It's in the trunk, Dean."

"Oh, thank God," I heard Dean's voice, "Does she know what we're hunting?"

"Yeah," Sam said as I heard him and Dean leave a motel room (or I assumed that's where they were), "Some demon named Eurynomus. He likes eating corpses."

"Charming," Dean said. I heard him crack the trunk to his car and he asked, "Okay, so what is this?"

"Can you put me on speaker phone?" I requested to Sam. He obliged and I told Dean, "There is a box labeled 'Stuff' and –"

"You labeled a box 'Stuff'?" He asked incredulously.

"YES," I said, exasperated, "I labeled a personal box ' _Stuff_ ' because _I know what's in it._ "

"Whoa, chill," Dean said defensively.

"In the box," I continued, slightly nettled, "There is a bunch of miscellaneous technological devices that I've constructed. There should be one that looks sort of like a handheld walkie-talkie with a screen. It's dark green and has three red buttons on the front, and a flip out keyboard."

"What?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"You heard me."

There was the sound of shuffling for a while and then Dean's voice came, sort of laughing, "Does it have ' _Eden Parker_ ' written on it in metallic silver Sharpie?"

"Ye-es," I said, drawing out the word, "I used to like to write my name on my gadgets, and then I hit the age of eighteen, so I figured that I should stop."

"Oh," said Dean in a somewhat humbled tone.

"The button on the top of the device is the power button. The three red buttons are just sort of 'zoom in, zoom out' and 'scan' buttons'. It's a demonic detector. It will pull up a map onto the screen that shows where demons are in relation to you."

"Whoa," Sam said, "Cool. Thanks."

"Awesome, Sara," Dean agreed, "You rock." There was some more rifling and Dean asked, "So all this is, like, demon-catching, supernatural-detecting mojo devices?"

"Yes and no," I told him, "It's all devices that are designed to help aid in the hunt for the supernatural. But none of it's magic. It's all _science_."

"Oh," Dean said as Sam chuckled.

"You guys need to get a plan together and I need to get back to painting this base," I informed them firmly, "Call me and tell me how it goes."

"Sure," Sam said, "Talk to you later."

"Bye," I said before hanging up.

Time to get back to work.

That day, the 25th of March, I sponged gold onto the walls of the kitchen (three hours), finished not one coat, but two coats, of Cody's room; the latte and chocolate combo (four hours). I also finished coating one of the guest rooms' walls – the light orange one – (four hours), and finished the living room walls that were the coffee foam and apple green (five hours). That put me at about midnight. Another long, gruesome day. As I was cleaning up, I wondered how the guys were doing, if they were in the cemetery, and if they would catch Eurynomus. I took a nice shower and then slept on a bare mattress (third night in a row) for five hours.

March 26th; no call from anyone. I finished painting the walls in Sam's room the light yellow-orange-gold that I loved so much, and I also finished the walls in the second and third guest rooms – the sky blue and the mauve. And, despite popular belief, mauve is not an ugly color.

March 27th; no call from the boys. I painted my room. It turned out wonderfully. I was ecstatic. The lilac-and-periwinkle combination was so beautiful. Then I got down to the hard part; the trim. It took me almost eleven hours to paint the trim in all of the rooms; not fun. That was a long fifteen-hour day, March 27th.

March 28th arrived, and I awoke at four-thirty in the morning to my cell phone playing " _We Are the Champions"_ and the sound of Sam whispering, "Sara? Are you there?"

"Yeah, I guess," I answered blearily, "What is it?"

"We got him. Eurynomus."

"Oh, good," I mumbled.

"What do we do?"

 _That_ question caught me off-guard, "What do you mean? You exorcise him."

"Yeah we did, but…"

"But what?"

" _What do we do with the guy_?"

"Oh," I thought about that, "Right…" A disgusting thought crossed my mind; "He knew he was eating dead people the entire time, didn't he?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Sam said.

Gross. "Well, just… try and fix him the best you can. Get him to a hospital, maybe."

"Sara, _he's been eating dead people for a week_. You think we can just take him to a hospital and that he won't say anything? They'll throw him in a mental hospital!"

"I know," I said sadly, "But honestly, that might be the only thing you can – or should – do."

Sam sighed, "Okay." I heard him shudder, "Poor guy."

"Yeah," I agreed.

Changing the subject, Sam asked, "So what've you been doing the past few days?"

"I finished painting the base," I answered, "All the rooms that needed paint are done. I'm going to make all the beds later and assemble the desks. Then I'm going to go to the store and buy kitchen supplies."

"You're just…" Sam trailed off.

Tiredly, I mumbled, "I know I haven't gotten a lot done. It's a lot of work."

"No!" Sam said, slightly shocked, "That's not what I was going to say! You're just… amazing, that's all." I could practically hear him blush, and despite my sleep deprivation, I felt my cheeks warm up, too.

"Thanks," I yawned, "I do my best. Anything else?"

"Uh… no. No," Sam sputtered, "We're... good. Fine. Dean had a black eye and Cody needed some stitches, but everything's fine. We should be back in a few days."

"A few days?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, "Cas wants to make sure this guy is going to be alright, so…"

"Okay," I agreed, "That's fine. Just keep me updated."

"Okay, I will."

"Thank you. Bye, Sam."

"Bye, Sara." I ended the call and fell back asleep.

Four hours later, at 8:15am, I woke up. I breathed a sigh of relief. The painting was done. Thank God. Wait. I thought. Shit. I had to do the wood stain on the kitchen cabinets. That wouldn't take too long. I bounced out of bed; feeling rested, and decided to finish the cabinets before I would take a shower.

Staining wood takes a long time, I found out. First, you have to sand the cabinets, which made an awful mess and then you actually stain it. Then you have to add this clear, protective, glossy cover coat thing. So sanding, staining, and coating the cabinets actually took up the rest of the morning, and part of the early afternoon. I was pleased with the way they turned out, though. I had stained the cabinets a dark color called Jacobean, adding to the coffee-and-gold color scheme of the room. I was relieved when I finally put away the cans of paint, the brushes, rollers, and paint trays. I was happy to take a shower and put on clothes that were not the ones I had been wearing for the past four days. After putting on a nice pair of jeans, my boots, and a cream-colored blouse, I shook my hair out of its braid. Hm. _Time for a haircut, I think_.

I really didn't want to cut my hair, but as I stared at the brown-gold curtain that was my hair, I realized that even if I got eleven inches off, it would still be a few inches below my shoulders. _And I could donate it,_ I thought. I could. I could donate my hair to a center that made wigs for cancer patients. That thought sealed the deal. I surfed the web on my computer for a bit, looking for places I could get my hair cut. I found a place about half an hour away from the base that looked pretty professional, so I that's where I went.

"Oh, my gosh," the hairstylist, a small, pretty woman in her mid-thirties, said as she came up to meet me an hour later, "Your hair is so long! It's gorgeous!"

"Thanks," I blushed.

She ushered me over to a chair and sat me down. As she washed my hair, she asked, "So what are we getting done today? A trim? A whole new look?"

"Well, I'd like to get ten or eleven inches off so I can donate it," I told her.

"That's so sweet!" she gushed, nodding, "I can do that. And then what? Layers? Bangs?"

I thought a moment, "I think a few layers would be nice. I don't know about bangs though. My area of work usually requires me to keep my hair out of my face."

"Well, what I can do is make you some long side bangs that will frame your face, but can still be tied or clipped back. Sound good?"

"Yeah," I agreed. I was shaking slightly. I was about to get _eleven_ inches of my hair cut off.

"So," the hairstylist, who had introduced herself to me as Rachel, chatted, "Any reason you want your hair donated? Just because? For a loved one?"

I hesitated then said, "Yes, actually. I had… a little brother who died of leukemia when he was four."

"Oh, sweetie!" she gasped sadly, "I'm so sorry!"

"Thank you," I acknowledged, "I am, too. Since then, I try to do what I can to help others with cancer."

"I understand," Rachel nodded, "That's very wonderful of you. Very sweet." She finished washing my hair and then squeezed enough water out of it to fill a bucket. Draping a towel around my shoulders, she helped me up. After sitting me down on a cushy black chair in front of a mirror, and draping a black… cloak or whatever it is they have you wear while getting your haircut, she combed out my hair.

"I just love your hair," she squealed, "It's so soft and silky and _totally_ not knotted!"

"I try to take care of it," I grinned.

Sweeping my hair back into a low pony tail she nodded, "And you do a wonderful job. Eleven inches?"

"Eleven inches," I confirmed.

She cut the ponytail off. Not even kidding. She had tied the hair tie just a few inches below my shoulders, and she chopped the entire thing off just above the hair tie. I shrieked and she paused, asking with a smile, "You okay?" She held it up the ponytail for me.

"Oh, my God!" I yelped. My hand flew to the hair on my head and felt where it ended three inches below my collar bone, "Oh, my God!"

Rachel patted me on the shoulder and soothed me, "You're adorable. It will be fine; you're going to look gorgeous."

And two hours later, my hair was trimmed, layered, had piece-y side bangs, and was blown dry. I shrieked again when Rachel swung the chair around to face the mirror so I could look. I looked… I looked… Who did I look like?

"Drop-dead gorgeous," Rachel smiled at me, "Do you like it?"

I fluffed at my hair with my hands nodding, unable to suppress my grin as I said, "My head feels so light; it's weird!"

"Well, you're beautiful, doll," she assured me, "And I'll make sure that this hair gets sent away to Locks of Love, m'kay?"

I nodded, thanking her.

I took one more look in the mirror and figured out who I looked like.

I looked like my mom.


	29. I'm da Boss

I spent the next two days avidly making beds, assembling desks for the bedrooms, buying kitchen and bathroom supplies, and organizing everything. Sam called the evening of the 29th and told me that they were going to get in sometime in the early evening on the 30th. I told him I'd have supper ready and he sounded relieved.

I was really proud of myself for everything I had gotten accomplished; the rooms looked very nice and clean, if I may say so, what with their comforters and matching curtains. I had found this huge, gorgeous dark wood table on sale at – guess where? – the Home Depot, that could seat ten people. I knew there weren't that many of us at the moment, but I could at least think ahead. I assumed more people would transfer over at some point. I bought a lot of kitchen ware and small kitchen appliances; glass plates, plastic plates, glasses, plastic cups, silverware, soup bowls, serving bowls, pots, pans, a toaster, a coffee maker, a blender, a food processor, spatulas, tongs, a _grill_ , the list is endless.

I also bought things for the living room; a huge flat-screen TV, three really nice, green couches that accented the green wall, some lamps, a coffee table. I ordered pretty much all the bulk items off of Amazon a week before, and so everything arrived the day I wanted it all to get there. The guys who brought all of the furniture in were pretty shocked at how big it was, and I assured them that the house just _seemed_ small, which was true.

Getting back to the topic of lamps; I had bought lamps for every bedroom, and was working on installing ceiling lights in the separate rooms when Sam called me. I had finished installing the lights in the boys' rooms at that point and was utterly relieved I had at least their rooms and the main living areas done. I was, again, thankful I didn't have to deal with the bathrooms. Bathrooms were awful to build. I went to bed that night, the 29th, making a mental checklist of what I needed to do tomorrow; buy food, cook dinner, finish installing the lights in the other rooms. Buy office supplies.

Five am; rise and shine. I showered – _my hair was so short!_ – and ate… actually, I'm not sure if I ate. I don't really remember. I'm not sure if there was any food left to eat at that point. I decided to install the light in my bedroom, since most stores didn't open until nine or ten; I had a few hours to kill.

I finished installing the light and fan – oh, yeah, I had installed ceiling fans in each of the rooms, too; good fun – in my room around half past ten, so I decided it was time to go grocery shopping.

Grocery. Shopping. Is. Not. Fun.

Shopping for lamps is fun. Shopping for windows that you're going to self-install is pleasant. Shopping for screwdrivers is exciting.

Shopping for food is not fun. How do you know what's healthy? How was I supposed know what I was getting was quality? Was it worth the extra dollar so you can have this brand of food? Did I really want to spend $3.15 on a gallon of milk that would disappear by the time the guys were halfway through dinner?

I mean, technically, yes, I did, because Torchwood paid for living expenses (electricity bills, water bills, food bills, bills in general); there was no fee you had to pay to live there. You didn't _have_ to live at the base; you could live in your own home if you _wanted_ , but everyone that I had met had no family, save Sam and Dean, who were brothers (obviously).

But it was still really _hard_ for me to buy any sort of food that cost over five dollars. Five dollars could buy you an entire meal at Wendy's. Why would I want to spend that on a package of gruyère cheese? I didn't; that was the problem.

But I did anyway. I bought milk, orange juice, grapefruit juice, cream, eight different kinds of yogurt, five types of cheese, a tub of butter (that was actually vegetable oil spread, but whatever), _actual_ butter, salt, sugar, flour, pasta, honey, bread, bagels, cream cheese, celery, carrots, onions, tomatoes, beef, hamburger, chicken (I hated chicken), lettuce, dried cranberries, goat cheese, almonds, cashews, various breakfast cereals, eggs, raspberries, apples, cherries, bananas, peaches, vinegar, mustard, ketchup, mayonnaise (stupid word), jams, jelly, marmalade, tea. Oh, I bought a tea pot and some tea mugs at the Target. I was excited about that. I also bought a ton of spices, and shallots, and garlic, baking soda, baking powder. Basically if I saw something on a shelf that seemed like something I would need semi-often, I bought it.

I spent over a thousand dollars on food in three hours.

I was actually the only customer one _in_ the store, which I sort of thought was weird, but apparently it was spring break for a lot of people, so the store people weren't that concerned about it.

The manager, however, was concerned about me. Long story short, he made me go into his office and he called the police, claiming that I had stolen money, because no one had that much money to go around in our economic times, especially for someone like me; so young and _college-aged._

"Why in the name of heaven are you buying so much food?" he asked suspiciously, "And where do you get the money?"

I decided to be honest; "My name is Sara Müller and I just moved here from Boston, Massachusetts. I work for the government, as strange as that may sound, and so I get my money from them, just like you. Except," I added, "I get mine directly from the President."

The guy – CHUCK, as his nametag read – raised his eyebrows at me and said, "Sweetheart, you're going to lower your story to something a bit more believable. You don't even look twenty." I flipped open my wallet, showing him my driver's license, proving I was at least twenty-one. "Okay," he admitted, "That's fine, but this President thing–"

I flipped out my cell, my heart beating fast. Oh, God. Should I? I did. I went to my address book and hit "President', then 'Call'. The phone rang a few times.

He picked up, "Hello?"

Looking pointedly at Chuck, I said smoothly, "Good day, sir. I was wondering if you could perhaps verify the validity of my job statement to a friend of mine, Chuck, who works at the local grocery store."

He laughed. Oh, man. Oh, man. "Sure thing," he agreed, "This is Sara, right?"

"Yes, sir," I confirmed.  
"Well let me talk to Chuck for a moment, I'm sure we can get things worked out," he directed.

I handed the phone to Chuck, whose eyes were wide, and I smiled sweetly at him. He put my phone up to his ear and asked hesitantly, "Hello?" There was a pause and he said, "Oh, Mr. President! It's an honor, I –" He paused again, and a few minutes later he said meekly, "I'm sorry, sir. Yes. I understand. Definitely. My mistake. Have a good day, President." There was an audible click from the other end of the line, and our good friend Chuck looked directly at me, his mouth open. After a moment, he handed my phone back to me and said, "The president knew your name. And he said that you're his employee."

I shrugged, "I know. Kind of hard to grasp for a while, I know."

And that's the story of how I got a picture with Chuck, the manage, and why it's hanging in his office.

I got back to the base, and packed everything into the fridge and the cabinets (they looked so nice!). When I had finished, I looked at my watch, Hmm; 2:45pm. I didn't have to start dinner for about two and a half more hours. I theoretically _could_ have installed another ceiling fan/light I one of the guest rooms, but…

Office supplies.

I went to go buy office supplies for my room. I didn't want to buy any office supplies for the guys, because that seemed a bit presumptuous, so I just bought things for myself instead.

Shopping for office supplies is a very relaxing yet exhilarating experience.

I had a great time selecting a printer and paper, and paperclips and thumbtacks, a bulletin board, a pen and pencil bin, rubber bands, sticky notes, scissors, sticky tacks, a pencil sharpener, pens, pencils, dry erase markers, a dry erase board, markers, glue, a hole puncher, a paper cutter.

Very relaxing.

5:45 rolled around, and I had just finished setting all of my new office supplies in order in and on my desk, feeling pleased with myself. It was time to get cooking. I cooked up a ton of food that night; spaghetti, Italian beef sandwiches, a salad, green beans, fruit salad, peas, potatoes, iced tea, a cherry pie and an apple pie. I set the table and loaded all of the food onto it, as well, looking in doubt at how much food I had made. There was no way they would eat everything. Good thing I had bought _Tupperware_. I really had like shopping for Tupperware. It was great fun.

I was beginning to realize that I liked home-style living.

Ten minutes after I had finished, when I was lounging on the couch, not being frantically busy for the first time in three weeks, the doorbell rang. Thankfully, I didn't have to walk that far; the front door was just across the hall from the living room, so it was all good. I yawned, exhausted and looked through the peephole; it was the boys. I opened the door and smiled, "Hey."

Dean and Cody looked really confused but Cas nodded a 'hello' and Sam's mouth dropped open a bit as he stuttered, "You – your hair – it's –"

I nodded, "Shorter, I know. Come in." I stepped back and the stood in the wide hallway, looking around. I had placed a coat rack in the corner, and there was a large potted plant along with a lamp, and miscellaneous artwork lined the hallway. It was actually my artwork, but none of them needed to know that.

"Your hair is really nice," Sam offered, but Dean cut him off, confused,

"But this place looks really nice. You said it was half-finished."

"It _was_ ," I said drily. As I walked them to the kitchen, I explained, "This place was completely empty with no lighting, no free-standing furniture, save for the beds, and no paint on the walls. It's not like that anymore. I hope it's –"

"Freaking awesome," Cody interrupted in awe, looking around the kitchen, as we had just entered.

Sam and Dean and Cas were looking around, too, and Dean whistled, "You did this all by yourself?"

"Well, no," I explained. "The cabinets were already installed and the fridge and the stove and the sink and the countertops were in here and some guys from the UPS helped me move in the table, couches, TV…" I trailed off, shrugging.

"Wait, what?" Sam asked me.

I shook my head and told him, "You guys will have until when ever to see the rest of this place, just eat for right now." I waved over at the table and Dean's eyes lit up.

"Is that pie?" he asked eagerly.

"Yeah," I told him.

"Great," he said, excited.

I yawned and announced, "I'm going to go rest. I'll be back and clean up later. Oh, and there's a blueprint of the base on the kitchen counter. I sort of picked where your rooms are located so that I could get them painted. If you don't like where they are or the way they look, I can always re-do them."

Sam looked at me funnily a moment and I said tired and slightly defensive, "I just wanted to make this place livable. I didn't mean to assume or –"

"Sara," Cas interrupted, making me start; Cas almost never talked, and when he did, it was because he had something important to say, "This is all very nice. You should not be sorry for your actions; all is wonderful."

I blushed, "Thanks, Castiel. I'll see y'all later," and I departed to my room, where I fell on my bed and fell asleep.

Men eat a lot of food. As in, Sam, Dean, Cas, and Cody finished _all_ of the food that I had made them. _All of it_. I woke up about an hour after falling asleep and journeyed back to the kitchen, expecting it to be empty. I wasn't really… _scared_ having just the guys there, but it was going to take some getting used to.

I entered the kitchen, which was pretty much on the opposite side of the base from where my room was, and stopped. They guys were still stilling around the table, laughing. And the dishes were all empty. Oh, my God. They had eaten… everything.

I cleared my throat to alert them of my presence, and Sam looked over immediately, and the others followed his gaze. I asked in slightly disgusted amazement, "Did you… eat… everything?"

"It was good," Cody offered. The others nodded and I grew almost shocked.

"Oh, my God," I said, laughing slightly in incredulity. Little did I know that that was the day that marked the beginning of my _real_ job; keeping those guys properly fed. I had before, but I had made _huge_ amounts of food then, since there were closer to twenty people at the Boston base, while there was only a fourth as many people as that at this base, so I had to figure out home much food these guys would need in one meal.

As it turned out, they pretty much ate the same amount of food that they did that first night, every day, three times a day. It was _so_ weird. I could literally make enough food for an army, and these… _giant_ men would just eat _everything._ I still refrained from eating with them, like I had at the last base, but I didn't care anymore if one of them was in the kitchen with me while I cooked.

I was always the first one up (again), and the last one to bed (again), but the hours weren't quite as extreme as they had been over in Massachusetts, since I wasn't going out of my way to avoid people. I didn't seek them out, mind you, but I didn't _purposely_ avoid others. I usually got up around 7am to make meals, and then would get to bed around 1am. It was really nice getting a solid six hours of sleep a night. I could do anything after getting six hours of sleep. It was great.

A few days after everyone had moved in, I had finally unpacked the trailer and was sorting through everything in the TDL when Sam stopped by. I had started keeping the door open unless I was legitimately testing something, or needed absolute silence to test something. Some things did not require absolute silence, nor was I testing anything, so the door remained open.

"Hey," he greeted me.

"Hey," I replied, separating different gadgets by how high-tech they were, and what kind they were; holographic, hydrophobic, nuclear, et cetera.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm doing fine," I answered honestly, "How are you?"

"It's a little weird," he admitted, "having a home like this, even though the other base was technically a home, too. But I have my own room now and…" He shrugged.

I nodded in understanding and told him, "I know what you mean. Just being rooted in one place is… really different for me. But I think I like it."

"Me, too," he said. A short silence fell, only punctured by the sound of me setting different devices here and there.

After a moment, I asked, "Is your room okay? I didn't know what colors to get, so…"

"It's really nice," Sam told me earnestly, "I like the colors that you used a lot. I saw the others' rooms, too, and they all look really great."

I breathed a sigh of relief, "Good. One of my biggest concerns was the coloring of your rooms. I figured that if I outright asked, none of you would know what to say, so… I improvised a little."

"No, it's really good," Sam informed me, "Dean really likes the striped bedspread, and I know Cody likes his own room, too. You did a good job. The extra rooms are nice, too."

"Thanks," I smiled a little bit, now sorting through one of the huge boxes that of scrap pieces that Jack had given me.

"How much did you actually do?" he asked, "You've never really said."

"Well," I said slowly, "When I got here, the only place with working lights was the hallways, the labs, the medical bay and…" I hesitated. I didn't want him to know about the room in my closet, "…and my closet, for some weird reason, so I had to build a makeshift lamp the first night I was here. I sort of wandered around in the middle of the night the first night, sort of survey what there was and wasn't – what needed to be done." Setting aside a sheet of metal, I continued, "The only thing that was present in each of the bedrooms was a bed; no sheets, no nothing. No curtains, no lighting. There's a bathroom connecting to each of the bedrooms, though, and I was surprised to find each one fully functional, but I was also really glad, too, because that was eight less rooms I had to worry about. This room that we're in right now – the technological development lab – was pretty much the same as it is now, except that there weren't any miscellaneous items around; just these empty chairs at these empty tables." Sam nodded, following, so I kept telling him, "I didn't touch the medical bay at all; I didn't sweep or mop it, I didn't do anything. I'm leaving that up to Cody, and if he wants me to clean anything, then I'll clean."

"Right," Sam nodded again, understanding.

"The research lab had all of the computers and all the tables, so that was pretty nice. But the kitchen was literally just the unstained cabinets, the counters, and an uninstalled fridge and oven. The living room had nothing in it at all. So." I shrugged, concluding my explanation.

"So let's see," Sam slowly listed off, "You've painted everything – which I can imagine nook a monstrous amount of time – you've installed pretty much all the ceiling lights and fans, which is really impressive, and you've cleaned everything, and you bought pretty much everything in this house, arranged it, and made it seem like it took no effort."

"Oh, it took effort," I told him, "Effort, bruises, tears, sleep deprivation, I think I broke a toe at one point, and I almost got arrested at the grocery store."

" _What?"_ Sam asked, flabbergasted.

"Apparently," I explained, "Buying over a thousand dollars' worth of food at one time is a little suspicious, so my good friend Chuck, the manager, decided to call in police and he accused me of theft, but then I called up my boss and got everything cleared up."  
"Oh, you mean Jack," Sam said, sounding relieved.

"No," I said, "I mean President Obama."

Sam laughed, but I was looking at him seriously, and after a moment he stopped laughing and asked me uncertainly, "You're being serious?"

"Yep!" I grinned, "I've had a few nice talks with him. And since technically I'm your boss, that means that you're employed by the government, along with Dean and Cas and Cody, which I find remarkably ironic and funny, considering all you and your brother have ever done is defy the system." As an afterthought, I added, "Although, I've done that a majority of my life, too, so I guess I'm not one to talk."

Sam smiled a moment, and then paused. He asked, "Wait. You're my _boss_?"

"Yep!" I replied almost cheerfully, "I'm in charge of paying you, and if I have any supernatural research that needs to be done, I'll ask you, and if there are any jobs that I'm aware of that need doing, you, your brother, Cas, and sometimes Cody, will be the ones that go take care of it, unless it's special circumstances, and then I would go, too."

"So… you… what?" Sam asked, not comprehending.

I gave him my full attention and explained, "You and your brother, and Cas are newly-employed by Torchwood, as of – what? Four days ago. Torchwood is branching out, deciding to coexist with Hunters, as our paths have crossed many times. This particular base is going to be a safe haven for Hunters, should they arrive and need assistance, whether it be shelter, food, water, medical care, equipment, backup, anything. This base, though, is funded and affiliated with Torchwood, so you are employed by Torchwood, namely, me."

Sam thought about that a moment and asked, "So… we're going to get paid to do what we've always done?"

I shrugged, "Basically. But you also have a place you can come to for shelter – here – and you'll be much safer. And now you're also aware of extraterrestrial life forms, which I'm going to teach you all how to fight them, save Cody, considering he's worked for Torchwood many years, so I'll be teaching him how to fight the supernatural. Or," I added, a glint in my eye, "you and the rest of Team Free-Will could teach him for me, and I would pay you overtime."

"Team Free-Will? Wha – You don't…" Sam spluttered, "You don't have to do that. You already... cook and everything. That's good. Sure. We can teach him."

"Thanks," I smiled.

"Oh, my God," Sam said after a moment.

"What?"

"It's just all finally sunk in," he stated, "I have a job. That's… that's really weird. And it's a government position, which is stranger."

I shrugged, "It was weird for me, too. Especially since Jack sort of forced me into this. It was… weird."

"He forced you?" Sam asked, his eyebrows drawing together.

"Sort of? He did so with kindness," I informed him, "He promoted me before I agreed to be promoted, but… you know…" I shrugged, my ponytail bouncing.

"Your hair is so short," Sam observed.

I reached back and self-consciously rand my hand through the ponytail, "I know," I said, "I got eleven inches off and donated it."

"Wow," Sam marveled, "Well, I think it looks great." After a moment, he hesitantly added, "You have a really nice smile, too."

I blushed a bit and a hint of a smile involuntarily crept up on my face, "Thanks."

"It is good to see that you're finally being assertive, Sara," came Cas' gravelly voice from the doorway.

Sam looked over at Cas, blushing, and I just rolled my eyes, "Thank you, Castiel."

Sam asked, "What d'you need, Cas?"

"Dean is looking for you," Cas grated, "And so I came down here. I assumed that this is where you would be."

"Oh," Sam said, looking a little embarrassed.

"Nice talking to you, Sam," I offered.

His face lit up as he replied, "Nice talking to you, too."

Hooray for successful conversations.


	30. FUCK YOU CODY WHAT THE FUCK

The next two months flew by. I was busy all the time, but I enjoyed doing what I did. I got up in the morning, made breakfast, then went and checked my voicemail and email, to see if Jack had sent anything since the previous evening. If so, I responded appropriately. I spent my mornings working on gadget-building, and then would make lunch around 11:30, so I could get back to work. In the afternoons, I either had some form of contact with either Jack or Erin, who had settled into her base late-April. I also did paperwork in the afternoons, such as filling out expense forms, or paychecks for the boys. I think one of the reasons I felt safer and not scared living on my own with the four of them was because _I_ was _their_ boss, and had the power to fire them or demote them, which I never would have, but it made me feel better nonetheless. If I didn't have any paperwork that needed filling – which was more often than not – I would clean or go shopping for things we needed around the base. The first month or so, however, I dedicated my free afternoons to finishing up the base. Cody asked me to help him organize things in the med bay one of the first weeks we were there, and there were still lots of miscellaneous household object to buy; a toilet plunger, a washer and a dryer, which I ended up sticking in the research lab because I had nowhere else to assemble them. Yeah, I built the washing machine and the dryer. I ordered the parts online and assembled them when they came. It was a great afternoon project. I apologized to Sam, telling him I was sorry to intrude upon his laboratory space, but he shrugged and told me it was no big deal, and I graciously accepted his indifference.

I made dinner in the evenings, and then I would work either more on my gadgets, or gave myself the evening to do what I wanted. Unless there was a pressing project or problem, I decided that Thursday nights were the nights I would sit in the living room and read. Thursdays were always good days because of that fact.

Still, though, I did not eat dinner with the guys. There was still a small part of me that was nervous to have people watch me eat, a small part that didn't want to formally sit down and _talk_ with all four of them at once about, you know, life. That wasn't going to become a thing. If I had an announcement I needed to make to all four of them, I would appear before they finished eating whatever meal was closest to the time the announcement needed to be made, and that worked perfectly fine.

At least, I thought it worked perfectly fine. Cody, on the other hand, apparently wanted me to eat with them more, because one day, mid-June, he appeared in the TDL while the others were eating. "Sara," he said as a greeting.

I looked up in surprise; Cody almost never went out of his way to talk to me, and yet, here he was. "Hi," I acknowledged him, "What's up?" He came over to stand next to me; I was assembling a solar-powered toaster. Jack wanted a solar-powered toaster. God knows why.

"Well…" he said slowly, "The guys and I have been talking –" Great. He and the guys had been talking. " – and we thought it would be nice if we could see you more often."

"What?" I asked, looking up at him, confused. I was standing, but he still towered half a foot over me. "You see me every day."

"Not at meals," he elaborated, "All we ever talk to you about is work, we'd like to see the unprofessional side of you sometimes, too."

Was he… flirting with me? I had no idea. I said politely, "Well, I do have a lot I have to do. It's more efficient if I eat while I work, since I can't work while I'm cooking."

"But fifteen minutes at a table with your friends is relaxing. And fifteen minutes isn't a lot of time," he argued.

"Sure it is," I calmly shot back, "I can build a lamp in fifteen minutes, a motion sensor, I could bake a batch of cookies, Jack could call and he could fill me in that the base was about to explode and that we would have to evacuate, and then we could evacuate in the same fifteen minute time span. I could go into cardiac arrest and die. A lot can happen in fifteen minutes; I can accomplish a lot."

"Sara…" Cody sounded pained, "I know... but…"

"But what?" I asked placidly.

He shifted a bit closer to me, making me shift slightly away from him. He said, "Maybe _I_ want to see you more often; the unprofessional side." Yeah, he was definitely flirting with me. And I was fairly certain it was because either a.) he was desperate or b.) he wanted to start dating me to make Erin jealous, and neither of those things were acceptable to me.

"Well, Cody," I said as I set the half-constructed toaster down, "If you'd like to, you could come talk to me sometime, while I'm working, but I just don't have time in my schedule to sit down and talk over dinner."

"Why not?" he asked, inching his hand closer to mine. Oh. My. God. I crossed my arms over my chest and explained nicely to him,

"Because I'm the one that runs this base, I'm the one that cooks, cleans, and shops, and I still have to get my jobs that I am assigned done in a timely fashion, so when I _do_ have time to sit down and relax, I just like to be by myself. And you can talk to Sam and Dean and Cas."

"But I'd really like to see _you_ ," Cody emphasized.

"And why's that?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

He stuttered a moment and then said, "Because you're beautiful and I want to know you."

"Okay, Cody, thank you, but I _am_ your boss," I reminded him, "and –"

Cody grabbed one of my wrists in desperation and I twisted out of his grasp. My old instinct to punch men in the face rose up angrily, and without meaning to, I broke Cody's nose.

He doubled over, blood pouring from his fingers and he groaned. I was still furious, though, so I didn't apologize. He had no right to touch me like that. My anger was heightened when he straightened back up, wincing, and mumbled, "I just want to get to know you, Sarah."

I spat, "I'm a human, Cody, not a book that's written in Braille! You don't have to touch me to get to know me!"

I stormed out of the lab, leaving Cody standing alone, covered pathetically in his own blood.


	31. We Destroy Everything Via Radio

That summer was… very awkward. After I simmered down, I felt awful for breaking Cody's nose. It was just that one, stupid piece of my heart, that piece that didn't trust men, the piece that flinched whenever someone touched me, that would take over when a situation that I had red-flagged a long time ago came around. I found Cody the next day, his nose fixed by Cas, and I formally apologized to him. His ears turned red and he mumbled that he was sorry and that he had come on too strong. "That may be," I had agreed, "But my response was not a good one; and I'm sorry." I explained to him that people unexpectedly touching me sent me into a panic mode, and what had happened the day before was a result. He nodded like he understood, but avoided me the next few months. I felt miserable about it even though Dean thought it was hilarious. I think I just reminded Sam how violent I could become despite my seemingly harmless demeanor. Sam also seemed relieved that I had turned Cody down, although I didn't dwell on that too much. I actually felt really bad about break all three of their noses, so one night, I made a chocolate cake that said in icing, " _Sorry for breaking your noses_ ", and that received a lot of laughs to my relief, meaning that they had forgiven me, which was good. Fall rolled around, and I received a book from Sam on my 22nd birthday entitled _Thermological Aerodynamics; Are They Real?_ And I grinned, happy, thanking him, and when he grinned in return, I realized that he looked like a ray of sunshine when he smiled.

Jump to the middle of October, 2011. I was in my room, working, while the boys were eating lunch – I had sort of turned my room into a mini office; the only personal things you could see besides my desk were my bookshelf and my bed; the rest of my things were in my secret room – when my phone rang. It wasn't my cell; it was the Torchwood phone, so I knew it was important; either Jack or Erin. Or Obama. I still hadn't quite wrapped my head around that the President would call me if he wanted to, but whatever. I picked up the receiver and reported, "Hello, this is Sara Müller from Torchwood, Base 9. How may I help you?"

Jack's laugh sounded and I immediately relaxed a bit. "Goodness, you really have got that down, haven't you?" he asked, a grin audible in his voice, "Anyways, I'm calling because there's a hunting job that I've been informed about. It's also only about five hours out from where you are."

"Okay," I replied, "Shoot."

"It's a small town called Albion and it's overrun with demons."

"Albion? Like… 'King Arthur needs to reunite the lands of Albion once again?' The oldest known name for Britain, Albion?"

"Right," Jack agreed, "Except this Albion is in Iowa."

"Sure," I acknowledged, "So you want all of us to go, or –?"

"That," Jack informed me, "is up to you. You can send as many or as few as you want. However, given that every human is plagued with demons –"

"But that's just over five hundred people," I gasped, "And you only want four or five of us going?"

"How'd you know the population size?" Jack asked bewildered.

"Don't worry about it," I muttered, "It was a phase I had when I was fourteen."

He laughed and said, "Well, you're correct; that's over five hundred people that are possessed by demons. However, they don't appear to be any higher-end ones."

"So just your generic, run-of-the-mill demons," I said, slightly sarcastic.

"Right. And I'm sure you can think of a way to get them all out," Jack assured me.

"Like if we infiltrated the town's radio and TV systems, making them turn on automatically, and playing an exorcism on a loop," I suggested.

"That," Jack said after a moment's' pause, "is a brilliant idea."

"Well, thanks," I replied modestly.

"Can you do that?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, "It'll be easy. The trickiest part will just be getting in the operating building; I'll have to find where it is, and how far it is from the town, whether it's actually _in_ the town, and if it is then we'll have to figure that out, too…"

Jack choked back a laugh, "Well, that shouldn't be too hard, considering you already have half of your game plan figured out."

"Right," I said agreeably, typing up a search into Google. A moment later, I said thoughtfully, "Or... I could set up my own radio station for Albion and then just hack all the radios that way."

"But what if no one turns on their radio?" Jack said, "Radio isn't really a thing anymore."

"Oh, I know," I said breezily," But if I hack the radio systems, then I can also turn up the volume to an ungodly level, so everyone would hear it. Also, you don't have to hear radio waves for them to be there. I can make the frequency so high that waves will ricochet off everything, and the demons will be exorcised without knowing why or how."

"Well, that was a dazzling explanation," Jack said sincerely, "I was right in having you head Base 9."

"Thanks, Jack," I said blushing, "I like it. Thank you."

"No, thank you, for God's sake," Jack said, "I would have never thought of that idea in a million years."

"You're welcome."

"Okay," he concluded, "I'll let you go. Keep me filled in on what's going on."

"Sure thing," I replied before hanging up.

If I just needed to set up a radio station… I didn't even have to _be_ in Albion. I could be an hour away and just direct the hijacked signal from there… I jumped up from my desk and strolled to the kitchen. As I entered the room, I dictated, "Okay, please be quiet. I have something you guys need to hear." The four of them stopped talking, looking surprised at the firmness of my tone. "Okay," I informed them, "There's a job we need to do."

"Like a hunting job, or a cleaning job, or…?" Dean raised an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes and said, "A hunting job. It's in Albion, Iowa –"

"Isn't Albion the old name for England?" Sam inquired.

"Yes, like King Arthur and Camelot and all that," I nodded while Dean rolled his eyes pointedly at Sam, "Now anyways, this town is overrun with demons, and we need to take care of it. Every person is reportedly possessed, and consequently, there are five hundred demons that need to be exorcised."

"So who's all going?" Cody asked.

I calmly told him, "You, Cas, Sam, and Dean." They looked shocked, save Cas, who was regarding me with a look of sincere attention on his face.

Sam said nervously, "So the four of us against five hundred demons?"

Somewhat nastily, Cody asked, "And you're just going to stay here?"

I shook my head, "No. I'm going to be about an hour away in Cedar Rapids, where I'll be carrying out the main part of the plan."

"We have a plan?" Cody asked, surprised.

"Yes, we do," I said somewhat sarcastically, "Which, I would tell you, except y'all keep interrupting, so I haven't quite gotten there yet." Cody looked slightly abashed. Dean just grinned and mouthed the word ' _y'all_ ' to Sam who rolled his eyes. " _Anyways_ ," I continued, "Trying to exorcise five hundred demons with only a few people, whether it be four or five," I looked pointedly at Cody, "would be a suicide mission. So I'm going to hack the radio waves of the town, and play an exorcism on a loop, so that every demon is exorcised."

Sam interrupted, looking slightly apologetic, "That's a good idea, actually, a really good one, but how will you know all the radios are going to be on?"

"Because," I informed, "You're going to have Castiel with you."

Sam and Cody looked confused, but Castiel nodded, he supplied, "If I try to talk through the radios, then they will all turn on."

I nodded, glad he understood, and continued, "So when that happens, obviously the demons will know what's up, but I'll have started sending out the fm waves already, so by the time the demons try to escape, they'll already be on a one-way trip downstairs. Also – I explained this to Jack when I was on the phone with him – just because you can't _hear_ radio waves doesn't mean they aren't there. If I amp up the frequencies enough, then even the demons who can't physically _hear_ the exorcism will still be exorcised."

"Oh, my God," Sam said, "That's brilliant."

"That's nerdy," Dean corrected him, "But it's a good idea."

"Well, thanks for your support, Dean," I said sarcastically, "I'm so glad."

Sam laughed and Dean shoved him a bit. Cas broke in with, "So when are we leaving?"

"Well," I thought aloud, "I have to contact the radio station in Cedar Rapids, buy or rent my own radio station in Cedar Rapids, go and set up the radio station in Cedar Rapids, record the exorcism, figure out how everything in the radio station works, you guys have to get there…" I shrugged, "I might leave today, depending on how things go."

"What do you need us to go for?" Cody asked, indicating himself and Sam and Dean.

I shrugged, "Better safe than sorry, right? It's always good to have backup." Cody nodded, accepting. "Alright," I said, "I'm going to go find out what it takes to get your own radio station."

It does not take that much to buy a radio station, let me tell you. I found a station dealer and call him up. We chatted a bit, I told him that I wanted to air a classical radio station in Albion, Iowa, and he asked me for some sort of credentials, and I informed him that my husband was a retired Marine and that he had always had wanted to host his own radio station, and so I thought I would buy him one for his birthday. Well, the guy ate that right up, and within two hours, I had my own radio station in Cedar Rapids.

I triumphantly went to the living room, where the guys were all congregated and I sat down on the arm of one of the couches, so I was right next to Cas. I reported, "Well, I have my own classical radio station that will air in Albion, Iowa."

Sam looked up from his laptop and sounded impressed, "That was fast."

I shrugged and said nonchalantly, "Well, it helps when your husband is a retired Marine and all he really wants to do now is have his own radio station and that it's his birthday next month."

Dean's head shot up and he asked, " _What_?" I couldn't repress a smile as I nodded, my eyebrows raised, waiting for him to get it. A moment later, he cracked up, "Oh, my God. That's awesome."

"Of course," I continued speaking lightly, "we all know he's out on a fishing trip right now this some of his Marine buddies, so I'll be going to the station tomorrow, check the place out, get it all set up for him, so that by the time he comes back, everything will be all set."

Sam grinned at me and said, "You're brilliant."

"Well, thank you," I said modestly as I hopped off the arm of the couch, "But don't let my husband hear you. He might beat you up. I'm going to pack and I'll head out after I make you guys dinner. Y'all should probably head to Albion tomorrow morning, so you can get there early afternoon. Call me when you're almost there, and I can fill you in with any details that you're unclear about, and hopefully tomorrow evening, we'll have this figured out."

I left the room and heard Dean laugh, "Wow, Sammy, it's too bad she's your boss. You two are perfect for each other."

Everything went smoothly. I met with the guy that I had bought the station from, Phil something-or-other, the next morning, and I gave a quality performance in which I gushed over my husband. I wore one of my mom's more ornate rings on my ring finger, and put a picture of my some random guy wearing a Marine uniform that I got off Google images in my wallet, so I could show Phil my 'husband'. I chatted with him about how my husband 'Roger' was away for a few weeks, and I thought now would be a good time to get the station set up, so when he came back, everything would be 'peachy', and Phil just nodded in understanding. He and I drove to the radio station, and after I proved I knew what I was doing, he left me alone. Then I got to work. I rewired the transmission device to purely air in Albion, and I changed the radio wave frequencies to match my needs, and long story short, I was all set by two pm, which is right around the time the guys called me. In the end, everything worked out fine; Cas did his angel radio thing, and I played the exorcism on repeat until every demon was exorcised, and _viola_ , the job was over.

Why did I just skip over all of that? Because it's not important what happened _in_ Cedar Rapids or Albion, it's what happened afterwards that's important.

"Okay," Sam said at last, "We're finished. All the demons are gone."

"Alright," I said, shutting off the transmitter, "Sounds good."

There was silence a moment and then Sam asked, "Now what?"

"You guys do whatever," I told him, "Whether that be go back to base or stick around a day or so, make sure everything's okay."

"We should probably stick around," Sam said and I heard Dean agree with him in the background.

"Okay," I said.

"What about you?" Sam asked.

"I… I'm going to go to Michigan," I confided in him.

"What?" he asked surprised, "Why?"

"I'm going to go get some stuff from my house," I explained.

"Your house?" Sam repeated; confusion evident in his voice.

"The place I grew up in," I elaborated, "I have some stuff there that I'd like to have."

"Oh," he said, "Sure."

"I'll be back at the base tomorrow," I assured him, "It's only an eight hour drive from here to Michigan, and then about five hours from there back to base."

"So you'll be back before us," Sam concluded.

"Correct," I told him, "So I'll see you in a few days. Keep me updated, whether it be by call or text."

"Sure thing," Sam said before hanging up.

I going to Michigan because there was a ton of stuff that was still there that I never took, and now I was ready to take it. There were clothes of my mom's that I hadn't taken with me, and weapons that I hadn't taken, and… that's where I had put all of Danny's stuff; his games, movies, books, hospital bracelets, everything. And I was ready to take that back, too. And that's what I did.

I was _not_ overly-emotional loading all of Danny's things into the back of my truck, but I was sad. It had been six years since his diagnosis, and four and a half since his death. He would have been nine. That thought made me shiver. _Nine._ That was… crazy, unthinkable.

And saddening.

But when I got back to the empty base, and took everything inside, hiding it in my secret room – which I just called my 'painting room', since that's what I mainly did in there – I wasn't sad or unwilling to sort through all of his old possessions. I was sort of… nostalgic. Opening up boxes of bittersweet memories was sort of a… sentimental restoration, of sorts.

Looking through the pictures of me and my little boy wasn't something that broke my heart. It wasn't something I could really connect with anymore. That girl in the picture – that bald, short, little girl; the girl that was forced to grow up too fast – she was just a child, someone forced to take on a responsibility that no one her age should have. She wasn't me.

I was sad for the little boy in the picture, not the little girl. That toddler – the one with the cheeks chubby from months of chemotherapy – had a life ahead of him that he would never get to live. Even at the age of three, four, he had dreams, aspirations; ones that he would never get to push for. The thing that troubled me most of all was this; _Would it have been better for him not to have been born?_

A question that haunted me the rest of my life.


	32. Aragorn's Gorgeous Don't Lie to Yourself

We watched The Lord of the Rings that Christmas; that's what my present was or something. I'm not sure why, but Sam and Dean were insistent that I watch them at least once in my life.

"It's just not acceptable," Dean explained, "that we've known you for two years and you haven't seen these. They're gold."

"The books are better," Sam informed me, making Dean emit a scathing noise.

I sat down on a couch, apprehensive. I asked, "What are these even about?"

"What are they about?" Dean cried passionately, "They're about these little dudes that journey to the land of evil to destroy it once and for all! It's awesome!"

"…Right," I said.

"It's a series whose underlying statement is good versus evil, and that you can't face trials and tribulation alone," Sam corrected Dean.

"Oh," I said, sounding interested, "Okay."

"Really?" Dean said sounding incredulously disgusted, "That's what makes you want to watch them? Because of the 'underlying statement of good versus evil' and crap?"

I thought a moment then nodded, "Yep." Dean grumbled in disgust, making me smile a little.

That was the longest day ever. Nine hours of hobbits and elves and men and fighting and death and it was the most confusing thing I've ever seen. Yet, I loved them. At the end, I sat in silence for a few moments as the others looked at me expectantly.

"So he sailed off to this land where the elves are from," I said in clarification.

"Right," Sam said, nodding.

"And he just leaves everyone because he realized that he had reached a new chapter in his life and he just needed to let go of the past."

"Uh," Dean said, "I guess."

There was an elongated silence while I contemplated something. Finally I asked, "Why couldn't they have just flown the eagles to Mordor?"

"Oh, my God!" Dean shouted in pain while Sam cracked up, "Sam asked that, too! What is it with you people?"

"Because it's the most logical answer," I shot at him, "Why waste what was probably an entire year of their lives, when they could have gotten it over in a few weeks? Boromir wouldn't have taken those arrows, Frodo wouldn't have gone mental, and Gandalf wouldn't have died."

Dean cried, "But it's the journey! The journey is what's important!"

"Okay, calm down, Dean," I said in an attempt to soothe him, "I get that, but walking to Mordor was a completely stupid idea."

"It really was," Sam agreed.

In an attempt to change the subject, Cody quickly asked me, "Who was your favorite character?"

I thought about that a moment. Dean muttered, "Betting you it was Éowyn or Arwen."

"Why?" I asked mused, "Because they're women?"

"Or one of the hobbits," he said, "Because you're so short."

"Hey!" I exclaimed, while he laughed. I glared at him, "Actually, I think I liked Aragorn the best."

"Oh, my God," Dean muttered, abruptly ceasing to laugh, "You liked him because you thought he was hot."

I laughed, then; legitimately laughed, making the others stop. I had never laughed in front of them before, and yet there I was, cracking up. "Because – he's – hot?" I choked, "No! Oh, my goodness!" I controlled myself and said in a somewhat level voice, "That…. Sure, that's a nice thing…" I laughed some more at the look on Dean's face, then managed to say, "It's because he's humble but willing to die for his friends, because that's what he believes in. He wants what's best for others, and sometimes that means he has to make sacrifices, but he gets what he deserves; a happy ending."

"Oh, God," Dean said in a strangled voice.

"Well, then, who was your favorite character?" I asked in an exasperated yet amused voice.

"Pippin," Dean said seriously.

"Why, because he eats all the time?" I asked innocently, making Sam and Cody laugh, and Cas smile.

Dean glared at me, while I patiently folded my hands and looked at him intently, waiting for him to answer. Instead, he threw a pillow at me and muttered, "Merry Christmas, you bitch."

A good beginning to our friendship, I think.


	33. Jim is Actually a Huge Dick

' _Moving to Wheaton base by Jan. 10_ _th_ _; St. Louis base about to be overrun. See you soon. – E'_

Well, that wasn't cryptic at all.

It was January 3rd, 2012, nine days after the _Lord of the Rings_ marathon with the guys. I was in the middle of making some soup for lunch when my phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw I had a text from Erin.

The St. Louis base was about to be overrun? What the hell?

Sam ran in just then, with the Torchwood phone… which had been in my room… _why had Sam been in my room?_

"Sara," he said, sounding nervous, "It's the President."

"Oh, okay," I said, holding my hand out for the phone, pausing what I was doing. He handed me the phone, which I placed on my right shoulder and held it there with the side of my head so I could continue chopping celery. "Hello?"

"Hi, Sara," came Obama's voice, "It's the President."

"Hi," I greeted, "Are you calling about the St. Louis base?"

"Yes," he said sounding surprised, "My, you are on top of things over at that base."

"I would hope so," I responded drily, "Considering I'm the one that operates it."

He laughed before telling me, his voice suddenly serious, "Demons have discovered the location of the base and intend to infiltrate it as soon as possible."

"That," I said after a moment's' pause, "is definitely a problem."

"You bet it is," he said agreeing wholeheartedly with me, "So we're having a few people transfer over to your base; Erin Richardson, Jack Harkness, and Ianto Jones."

"Wait, Jack?" I asked, confused, "But Jack is the head of the base in Boston."

"He was," Obama informed me, "But when he heard that Ianto and Erin were transferring to your base, he specifically requested to be transferred along, as well."

"Did he specify why he wanted transfer?" I asked, already half-knowing the answer (Ianto), but I was curious as to the reason Jack had given the President.

"He felt," Obama informed me, "that he would get more work done if someone else ran the base he was at. He also felt like a change in scenery would help. And since your base has operated so smoothly for the nine months that it has been in business, he felt that yours was the best place to transfer to."

"I see," I said, "And who's now running the Boston base?" I dumped the sliced celery into the soup pot and started slicing up some carrots

"A man named Jim, I believe," he told me, "I didn't quite catch his last name. He was promoted from Information Technology, I believe."

"I believe I've met him," I said, "he seemed like a responsible, pulled-together person."

"Indeed," he laughed, "I believe that it would take one to know one."

"Thank, you, sir," I grinned, "I would say the same."

He laughed a moment then said, "I believe they plan on being at your base by the tenth."

"Erin sent me a text just a few minutes ago," I told him, "And she said that, too. What do you plan on doing with the base?"

"Just leave it there, I think," he sighed, "We might wait until the demons grow tired of it and then demolish it."

"How did they find out the location?" I asked, concerned.

"I don't know," he sighed, "But if someone ever figures it out, just call me up."

"Of course, sir," I said, throwing the carrots into the soup and stirring it.

"I have to go," Obama said, "Duty calls."

"Try to have a good day, sir," I said.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, "You, too."

I set the phone aside after he hung up and started shredding chicken into the soup. After a moment, I realized Sam was still there, staring at me. "Hi," I said pointedly.

He started a bit in surprise before saying, "Hi, sorry. What was that about?"

"The St. Louis base is going to be infiltrated by demons, so Erin Richardson, Ianto Jones, and Jack Harkness are transferring here by the tenth."

"Oh, wow," he said, "Do they know how they discovered where the base was?"

"Nope."

"That's… not comforting," Sam said after a moment.

"No, it's not really," I agreed.

"So I was thinking…" Sam started to say hesitantly, but suddenly Castiel appeared right next to me, making me jump.

"Cas!"

"Sorry," he said, "But there is something of import I need to inform you of."

"Okay, shoot," I said glancing at Sam, who had begun to blush and stare at his feet.

"It is the new director of the base in Boston," Cas clarified.

"Jim?"

"Yes; he is a serial killer."

I stopped stirring the soup a moment, and Sam and I both looked at him. "Pardon?" I asked.

"He… I have suspected him of murder for quite awhile," Castiel grated, "But now I've confirmed it."

"Cas," Sam said, completely bewildered, "What?"

"I followed him tonight and watched him murder an innocent woman," Castiel informed us.

"Alright," Sam said, still not comprehending, "So where is he?"

"In the living room. Dean is watching him."

"Of course," I said faintly, "Naturally." Cas disappeared. I sighed and shut off the stove, covering the soup pot. I followed Sam out of the kitchen and into the living room where, true to Castiel's word, Jim from IT was sitting on the couch, covered in blood, Dean pointing a gun at him. Castiel and Cody were nowhere to be seen.

I sighed as Jim grinned at me. "Jim," I sighed wearily, "What the hell?"

"Oh," he said sounding lazily interested, "So it _is_ you. You know, Jack was supposed to offer me this job, but he didn't seem to think I fit the _criteria._ Good thing he had you, though."

"Good thing," I echoed, feeling nervous, but determined not to show it.

"Funny," he drawled, still in that slow, lazy voice, "I never knew you could talk."

"Oh, I'm aware," I informed him, "Cody told me you thought I was a mute."

Jim laughed, "That's right. I did." He looked me over a moment and mused, "Nice hair. Did you donate it because of poor, little dead Danny?"

"Jim," I said, my voice tight, "is what Castiel told me true? Are you murdering people?"

"Well, not exactly _murder_ ," Jim said, as if relishing the word, "more like senseless _killing._ I'm a serial killer; I don't take people's lives for a specific _reason_."

"Don't you?" I asked quietly.

"Well, okay," he admitted, laughing a little, "I like having people's lives in my hands. It makes me feel so… _powerful._ "

"Uh-huh," I said, a sick feeling enveloping me.

"In fact," he mused, standing up slowly, "If I wasn't so… surrounded, right now, I'd have your life in my hands." Before I could say anything, Sam drew a gun and pointed it at him, much to my and everyone else's surprise.

"Sam," I said quietly, "It's okay." Sam glared at Jim, but lowered his gun.

Jim smiled slowly, "Oh," he said sounding intrigued, "Well, that's interesting! Willing to die for her, Sam? That's _cute_. Too bad she'll never want to date you." Sam looked confused and my heart started beating rapidly.

"Shut up," I told him evenly, looking up at him. I tossed Dean the Torchwood phone, "Dean, call Jack. Have him be here as soon as possible."

"Oh, I'm sooo scared," Jim said, inflecting sarcasm in his voice, "Anyway, don't change the subject, Sara," Jim taunted, "should I tell Sam all about your troubles?"

"Go ahead," I snapped, "he would find out sooner or later anyways."

"Oh, and why's that?" Jim raised an eyebrow at me.

"Because we're friends," I informed him harshly.

"I see," Jim grinned maliciously, "and friends tell each other _everything_?" I faltered, making Jim laugh. He leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, "Should I tell him what happened in an alley when you were twelve, Sara? About why you _really_ had a son?"

My blood ran cold. "How… could… How could you… possibly…" I couldn't finish my sentence.

"Knowledge is a powerful thing," he told me lazily as he straightened back up, still grinning. He walked up next to Sam, and Sam stared at him, disgusted. Jim was only an inch or two shorter than Sam, and so I anticipated his next move. My gun flashed up, level with Jim's head as Jim's rose to Sam's, his arm wrapping around Sam's neck, all in one flash of a second. Sam stiffened, and Dean's gun shot up, too, but he didn't have a clear shot.

"I wouldn't move, if I were you," Jim said breezily, "Unless you'd like to add some Sammy red to that green wall." Dean didn't move, but I knew he would never shoot; Sam was blocking Jim. It was just me.

"Jim," I said firmly, "Drop the gun."

"Why would I do that?" he asked, "That would take the fun out of our game."

"Game?" I repeated, incredulous and horrified, "You think this is a game?"

"Life is just one, great game, Sara," Jim told me grandly, "and you all are the pieces."

"And you don't think you are," I said quietly.

"Well, of course _I'm_ not one of the pieces," Jim said like it was the most obvious things in the world, "I'm one of the players."

"And who are you competing against?" I asked soft and level.

"The pieces," he hissed. Sam shifted and Jim pressed the gun harder against his head and Jim simpered, "Oh, no, Sammy; stay right where you are. I was going to tell you some fun facts about Sara, remember?"

Sam's eyes swiveled over to me and then sideways at Jim, loathing. Dean was looking at me, and I realized he was waiting for me to do something. With a jolt, I realized for the first time that _I was the leader_ and it was my job to keep everyone safe. Jim could go right ahead and talk. Jack would be there any minute. Besides, the longer Jim talked, the longer Sam would stay alive. "Go right ahead and tell him," I said to Jim, my heart pounding. How much did he actually know? What in the world was he going to…

"Poor Sara. Poor, poor Sara. All her life she's been covered in blood," Jim began, his voice like liquid mercury; smooth, soft, and deadly, "Did you know that when poor Sara was six, her Daddy shot himself in the head?" Jim spoke soft and slow, his eyes ablaze, "But that's not all. He killed himself _in front_ of her. Little, sad Sara watched as he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. She got completely _covered_ in his blood. She didn't know what was happening right away, of course. But then she started screaming, and ran over to him. She prayed, ' _Jesus, please! Bring him back! I need him! Please! I'm alone! I'm alone!_ '" Jim's voice dropped and he whispered in Sam's ear, "' _Please; I don't want to be alone'._ " My face contorted along with Sam's, bad memories surfacing, and that's when I began to realize that Jim wasn't trying to hurt Sam; he was trying to hurt me. Goad me into pulling the trigger, so he would die. Jim wanted to die. I wasn't going to let that happen. Dean was frozen. I was frozen. Everyone was stock-still, unmoving. Everyone but Jim. He smiled lazily at me, as if he could hear my stomach churning, my heart beating like a drum. Jim continued,

"I _know_ you've been wondering about Danny, too, Sam. Because you like Sara. It's all there in your eyes. You want nothing more than for her date you; be your girlfriend. But, you wonder, how come she had a baby? Was there someone else?" Suddenly his voice tone changed, it became much lighter, playful almost as he cheerfully informed Sam, "You know, if you had stopped to think about it, you would have figured out that cute, little, _innocent_ Sara was only _thirteen_ when she had bouncing baby Danny!" Sam's eyes widened and he looked at me. My breathing was growing heavier, more labored, and tears were welling in my eyes. _Please, Jack_ , I thought in silent desperation, _Please come here quickly._ "How young!" Jim continued, winking at me, making my stomach drop, "Why was Sara so young? Was she uneducated? I would say 'yes', but," Jim laughed, a note of anger lacing his voice, "we all know that's not true. Was it anger? Did she want to roll around in bed with someone because she didn't want to be… alone?"

Sam's were wide, and that's when I knew; that's what he thought. He had figured out I was incredibly young and, logically, that's what he would think. But if Jack didn't get here soon, Sam was going to find out the truth; because I couldn't shoot Jim. I wouldn't shoot him. My breathing became more and more ragged as Jim continued soft and smooth, "But that's not what happened, Sam. No. You see, Sara was alone. She didn't want companionship; she was afraid that whoever she was with was going to leave her. Because _everybody_ had left her; her mommy, her daddy, and even _your_ daddy, Sam! Good old John Winchester rescued her from some _nasty_ vampires, but he didn't even stick around to make sure she was okay. And she wasn't okay. In fact, one night…" Jim paused for a sickening effect. And Sam figured it out. Sam figured it out.

"You psycho," he spat, "Stop talking!"

"Oh, but Sam, Sam," Jim purred, "It's all part of the game. Don't you want to hear the rest?"

Sam's eyes sought out mine, and he looked desperately sorry. My vision blurred, tears pooling in my eyes, making Jim grin in delight, "My goodness! Look! She certainly remembers, doesn't she?"

"Jim, stop, you son-of-a-bitch!," Dean growled. I think he had worked it out, too.

But Jim just sighed and reprimanded, "It's impolite to interrupt a story before it's finished. Now, where were we?" Dean looked at me, and I imperceptibly shook my head, silently telling him to do nothing; it would be fine. Sam's face was breaking my heart. He looked like an internal battle was going on; his breathing was just as uneven as mine. Jim noticed, too; "You're feeling bad for her, Sam? That you couldn't have been there? As she was pinned to the ground by an unknown man twice her size in a dark alley in the dead of night? That you couldn't hear her _screams_ of pain as she was covered in her own blood? Not knowing, maybe for the first time in her life, what was happening? Her vision _spotting_ with pain, screams _ripping_ from her throat asking someone, anyone, to just please, please, _please; save her._ " Sam's eyes closed and he breathed in a deep breath, looking like he wanted nothing more than to hurt Jim. Jim whispered, "Well, it's too bad you weren't there to save her. And it's too bad she's not going to save you now." Jim's finger squeezed the trigger and a shot ripped through the room.

Jim dropped to the floor, his blood pooling around him, his eyes wide, blank, unseeing. I fell to my knees, doubling over on myself, my vision spotting. I could barely breathe. My stomach was churning, my head whirling. Huge, shuddering gasps ripped from my chest, and it was several minutes before I could breathe normally. Once I could, I looked up at Sam and Dean through my teary, blurry vision. I whispered raggedly, "I'm so sorry you had to hear that."

Jack arrived a minute later and took Jim's body away and any hope I had for Sam liking me flew out the window once and for all.


	34. SORRY IF MY PAST FUCKED YOU UP

As it turns out, Cas had gone to warn the president his new base manager was a serial killer. I can only imagine President Obama's face when Cas supposedly appeared in the Oval Office and introduced himself as ' _My name is Castiel; I am an angel of the Lord.'_ I sort of wish I had been there, not only because that would have been a priceless thing to experience, but I also wouldn't have been there to listen to Jim talk about my past in such a personal way.

But then I wouldn't have been able to save Sam, so.

Sam. Oh, God. The few days leading up to Erin, Ianto, and Jack's arrival were so hard, because Cas and Cody had no idea what had happened. Cas knew everything about me, but he didn't quite see it in the same light as Sam and Dean did. Cas had seen horrible, awful, things over the many, many centuries of his existence, and knowing that one small girl had been raped probably hadn't put too much of a damper on his spirits. I guess I could have been angry with him, that he didn't exactly _protect_ me when was younger, but that was all in the past, and as much as I wished I could go back and change it, I couldn't, so I didn't see any point or logic in being upset with him.

Sam and Dean were upset, though. Not with me. _For_ me; and that was maybe one of the strangest things of all. They didn't say anything to me about it, at least not at first, but I could tell. Dean would sort of look at me, trying not to cringe, and his mind would go a million miles an hour I'm sure swirling with simplistic, shocked, worried questions such as ' _Why?_ ' or ' _What the hell?_ '. I'm glad he didn't voice his uncertainties, because even though it was nine and a half years later, I wasn't sure how well I'd be able to answer. And then we had Sam. Sam, with his eyes the colors of a kaleidoscope, his eyes that were always changing color, his eyes were now cracked from pain and sadness and, I believe, anger. Every time he would look at me, his eyes that were as fragile as glass, his eyes would crack, and a desperate longing to understand me would pour out of them, out of his eyes, his head, his heart.

But I had no consolation to give him, no answers, no reassurances; I had nothing.

Not only did I have to live with all that, but I also now had to live with the guilt of having killed a man, not an innocent one, but a pure human. He would have killed Sam, I know, but seeing Jim lying there on the floor, devoid of any breath or signs of life, was an image I was never going to be able to erase from my mind, any more than I could the picture of Danny lying on his hospital bed, too still, the heartbreaking sound of a flat line filling my ears.

That's not something you can just forget.

Erin, Ianto, and Jack arrived mid-morning on the 10th of January, just as they had promised. Erin looked pretty well; a little worn around the edges, a little tired. Running a base had taken a lot out of her. While she was the take-charge type, she was also someone who liked to take on projects that too big for her to handle, denying that it was too much for her. But that's what made her a reliable person; you could always count on her to help you. You just had to make sure that you didn't ask her to do too much, because then she would try to do all of it, and that didn't always turn out nicely for her. Oh, the projects or tasks would get done in an exceptionally short time, and she would get it done well, but at her own expense. She'd forget to eat, sleep; to take care of herself.

I didn't know Ianto very well. He was very polite. He liked bringing me coffee, but then again, he like bringing everyone coffee, or whatever beverage of their choice they preferred. He was very quiet, sweet and gentle. He had others' best interests in his own; he put others before himself. But he was also brilliant. He could work computers and alien technology like it was no one's business. He was brave, quick on his feet, intuitive. And he loved Jack, which is one thing I am never going to understand, but that's okay; love is a complex thing. But how Ianto loved wild, loud, forward sex-driven, passionate Jack Harkness was beyond me. And the fact that Jack seemed to love him even more is what baffled me the most. I guess opposites do attract.

Things at the base became very chaotic; Erin and Cody were both co-heads of the medical department, which was amusing and nerve-wracking at the same time. Amusing, because I was their friend, and seeing them squirm around one another was something that I looked forward to everyday; it was obvious they liked one another, but nerve-wracking as the head of the base, because if they started dating and forgot to work… well, we'd get to that bridge if we came to it. I was secretly betting with Sam that Erin would be the one to start the relationship, while he believed that that honor was going to belong to Cody.

On another note, I decided to stop spending so much time in my painting room. The past few months, every free hour I had, I would spend in there; painting, looking at photo albums of Danny and I, my parents and I. But that chapter of my life was over. A new story was beginning, and I needed to leave the old one behind. I left everything in my painting room, save two photo albums – one with my parents, one with Danny – which I placed on one of the shelves of my bookcase, and I locked up the room. I left a box of old gadgets, including the prototype solar-powered toaster from so long ago, dozens of paintings, half-finished or no, and my bad memories.

I started eating with everyone at meals, which was slightly awkward at first, but I figured that I might as well, since it seemed that we were going to remain there, in Illinois, for quite some time. After a week or two, I began to realize what I had been missing, what I had truly been longing for; family.

It's like Jack had said all those years ago; family doesn't end in blood. If you gave them the chance, your friends could become the strongest family you never had.

And I was starting to realize just how true that really was.


	35. YOoo

The rest of January blew past like the snow (hilarious; I know. However, that was not a pun; it was a play on words, more specifically, a simile), then February, and March began. 2012. Weird number, weird year. So many things happened…

Specifically on March 12th. My half-birthday, remember? It was the anniversary of my mom's death; the 16th anniversary. _Sixteen_. I had lived for _sixteen years_ without my mom, and nearly that long without my dad. And I was still (mostly) in one piece. But that wasn't because time was healing me. No, what was truly healing me was my friends; my new family.

But it was still a hard day. I was so uncertain; was I supposed to mourn for my mom, or supposed to act like nothing happened? She had gone so long ago, but she had gone in such an awful way. I usually contented myself with finding something to kill, but in recent years, I had taken to shutting myself up for the day, and looking through my single photo album. That year, however, I decided to _not_ lock myself away. Instead, I sat on my bed, looking through the album of my Mom, Dad, and I, and later, Danny, and I, but with my bedroom door open. If someone wanted to come in, they could.

And Sam did. Right after lunch, around 1pm, I heard a small knock on my door, and I looked up expectantly. There he was; Sam. "Hi," I invited him in as I set the album aside, "What's up?"

"I need to talk to you a minute, if that's okay," he said somewhat hesitantly.

"Sure," I said cordially, "What about?"

"You, actually," was his reluctant reply.

Wasn't expecting that one. "What about me?"

"I just… wanted to know if you're okay."

"Well," I said baffled but trying to sound light-hearted, " _I_ think I'm okay, there are those who would call me a psychotic killer, but _I_ think I'm _okay_."

"You were just quiet at lunch today," Sam observed, pulling my desk chair out and sitting down.

"You mean more than usual?" I joked, but his eyes were serious. I sighed and admitted, "You're right. I've just… got a lot on my mind."

"Well, that's always been apparent," Sam informed me warmly, "But what's bothering you?"

I shook my head, and let out a sigh of laughter before saying, "It's nothing really… just a lot of dead people, I guess. Too many."

Sam's eyes held understanding and I was glad he caught my meaning. He noticed the album on my bed and after a seconds' hesitation, he asked, "May I?"

I shrugged, moving the books of photos out of the way, gesturing him to sit next to me on my bed. He looked surprised, but he obliged, reaching for the blue album. As he flipped through, he stopped at one picture in particular. It was of my mom and I, but that's not what was what made him stop. What made him pause and really consider that picture was because my mom was wearing her brown lace-up riding boots, her then not-so-worn jeans, and a cream-colored blouse, which is exactly what I was wearing then, sitting next to Sam on the bed. Sam regarded my mom a moment, then he looked thoughtfully at me. I wasn't watching him, however; I was just staring at my mom. I missed her so much

"You two look exactly alike," Sam informed me.

"Yeah," I agreed, half-aware of what he just had said.

He looked at little-photo-me a bit more closer, then, too. "You were a cute kid."

"Thanks."

He glanced over at me when he flipped the page and it fell on my Dad and I. "This is your dad?"

"Yep."

Sam looked at him closely. Dad was holding mom and I, each of us hugged tightly to him on either of his sides. He had one of the nicest smiles. "He looks… really happy," Sam said almost confused.

"I know," I said, sighing, "But the death of someone you hold really close and dear to you… drives you mad."

Sam glanced at me while he flipped the page and I bit my lip; he had reached the second half; the Danny half. He glanced down and I noticed him stiffen. "This is him," Sam breathed.

"Yeah," I said in a level voice. Sam looked over at me, scrutinizing my face for emotion. But I wasn't trying to hold any emotion back; I was purely so used to looking over the pictures that they no longer caused me pain. Longing, maybe. A little sadness, maybe. But not pain. Pain was in the past.

Sam, however, had not spent the last half-decade looking at a small boy with no hair, strapped to numerous machines, and he had not gotten used to seeing a small, teenage girl whose eyes held too much responsibility for one so young. His eyes grew sadder with each picture he viewed; Danny in his hospital bed at age three, curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes, looking at me, taking the photo as he proudly showed me his messy drawing of the moon. Danny looking sad, holding his suddenly bald head. Sam's face slipped into a grin for a second as he viewed the next photo; Danny rubbing _my_ bald head and looking pleased. I was grinning, too, looking small for a sixteen-year-old. Speaking of which…

"That," I informed Sam, "is what I actually looked like when I was sixteen."

His face broke into a quick grin and he said, "Noted." Back to the pictures; Danny with butterscotch pudding, Danny with a book on space, Danny with his drawing of a space shuttle.

The last four pages made Sam stop. "Are these of him sleeping, or...?" he asked hesitantly.

I shook my head and my voice cracked very slightly, "No. Coma. He fell asleep around mid-afternoon on March 29th and didn't wake up again. He died fifteen days later, on April 13th, 2007. He was four years and seven months old."

There was a silence and Sam finally said, "I'm sorry."

I said, "I'm sure you are, but you don't really need to be. He liked his life, I think."

"What about you?" Sam asked, "Do you like your life?

I had to stop a moment and seriously consider his question. After a minute or so, I replied slowly, "Yes. I'm not particularly… fond of certain events in my past, but I think… overall… it's been a good life."

"Really," Sam said, evidently surprised.

I took a moment to think about how my life must have seemed from his viewpoint; my mom, dad, and grandparents dead by the time I was ten, kidnapped by vampires, raped, teen mom whose son died at age four from cancer, tried to kill myself at age nineteen, then kidnapped by two strange guys I had never met and basically forced to start working for the government. Okay, so my life didn't seem that great. But I was thankful for the life lessons.

"My life," I said carefully, "has taught me to value the people I have, but to expect them to leave me at some point. It makes me grateful for the time I have with others while I am having the time with them. And when my time with them is up, I am, of course, initially sad and upset, but I am able to realize the positive impacts they had on my life and for that… I'm thankful."

"Thankful?" Sam echoed in slight disbelief, unable to understand, "You're thankful that all those people died?"

" _No_ ," I articulated, "What I'm thankful for is the time I had with them. I didn't have to meet them or have them in my life at all. But God graced me with their presence in my life, and He didn't have to. Every person in my life is present _in_ my life so they can teach me a lesson. And since I've become aware of that fact, I've come to value the minutes I spend with others."

"So… you can still find good in your life, even though all these... horrible, awful things have happened to you?"

"I have to," I said simply, "or I don't know how I would survive."

"How do you find the good things?" he asked. I looked up at him puzzled, but his expression was alert and sincere; he truly wanted to know.

"I guess…" I hesitated, "I look at each person I've met, and think about the way they influenced me positively. And… I'm alive for a reason."

"How do you know what the reason is?" he asked, and I could hear a faint note of desperation in his voice.

"You don't," I said kindly, "You have to wait for it to find you. But everyone has a purpose." I laughed, "Or at least, that's what Cas told me."

"What else did he tell you?" Sam asked interested

"Oh," I said, rolling my eyes, "Just that I'm supposed to find my soul mate, who needs my help desperately, apparently."

Sam shrugged, "Maybe he still does."

"This was three years ago," I pointed out, "I'm not sure that my 'soul mate' would be in the same mental, physical or emotional place that they were in then."

"He might be," Sam said. A moment later, he asked worriedly, "Your soul mate is a 'he', right?"

I laughed, "Yes. He's a he. And a human, from what I gather."

Looking immensely relieved, Sam said, "Good. Can I ask you a question, then?"

"Sure," I said.

"Would you… uh… there's this… really nice park a mile or so from here… and I was thinking… we could go on a walk there together sometime?" He added quickly, "But if you don't want to, I get it, that's fine –"

"Sam," I cut him off.

"Yeah?"

"Sure."

"What?" Sam sounded like he was trying not to sound hopeful, not to sound excited, but he did anyway, and it made the side of my mouth quirk up a little.

"I said," I repeated, "Sure. I would like to go to the park. Adam's Park, right?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling.

"Sure," I agreed, "just one thing."

"What's that?"

I smiled faintly, "Just please don't try to kiss me or I might end up breaking your nose again."


End file.
